The Memoirs of Mitsuko Komyouji
by Aknol
Summary: A fractured cityscape. Thousands of lives vanished. Now, a young woman must sift through the scattered details to uncover what happened that day-and the truth behind her beloved Jiro's involvement.
1. Entry 1

Aknol hereby aknowledges that she has no proprietary interest in the characters owned by the late Ishinomori. However, Aknol reserves unto herself any and all proprietary rights in the within submitted fiction.  
  
It rained the day Jiro was born.   
  
For nine months preceding his birth, our area experienced record-breaking waterfall levels. Rivers routinely flooded. Our gardens and lawns were progressively transforming into jungles, much to the delight of my hyper-imaginative brother. The outdoors were a palette of jade grasses and emerald trees. Yet nestled deep within shelter of our overgrown foliage were ticks and other noxious arachnids and insects. Athsmatics and those prone to allergic fits missed an embarrassing number of work days. They sought refuge in the confines of their homes, but to no avail. The mold, and their spores, had crept into the crevices of leaky ceilings.   
  
Every few days, it seemed, I attempted to banish the blight with sponges and a bucket of antiseptic justice. I scoured every recess of our overbearing, meandering house. I knew enough that even if the blossoming black flower of mold did not appear on every wall, it was simply not manifest as visible yet. As suspected, the recrudescent malignancy would always reemerge. And after the final traces of dankness had evaporated, the end result of my labors was the lingering pungency of Lysol emanating from my hands and clothes.  
  
A literary work can attest to the sentiment and beliefs of its times. And in many classical texts, the arrival of the unnatural and immoral is heralded by a strange flux in the weather patterns. How could I have known its truth, when I valued only my own, myopic logic? I didn't comprehend what it was an outcry against. I was oblivious to the lies manufactured, and to the weapons my father had crafted. Even as a child, he had sheltered me under an obscure canopy of deceit. Then, the night my father disappeared, the sky itself breached, and a soul was imparted to a toy.   
  
It was destiny.  
  
Many people have told me they are better off ignorant of the truth. I am writing to attest to this as a falsehood. As painful as it was, if I had never been exposed to the truth, I would never have had the ability to alter my solitary life. It enabled me to find ways to help my friends and to make choices for myself. Without the truth, I would still be powerless, and would have no idea how to handle the seemingly unrelated deluge of traumas I was inflicted with in the ensuing months.  
  
I am free now, even if it is a bought freedom. In our last moments together, Jiro released me to a new life. A life without fear, and a life without Dark, in which I could build a real relationship with my father, and raise my brother in peace. In return, he faced the great adversary of self-doubt without me.  
  
I still dream. The ones in which my mother is featured are invariably nightmares. However, I also dream about my lost brother, Ichiro. When he comes to me, he is unharmed, and smiling with a confidence that is always so elusive to me. In these nocturnal visitations, he indulges my lack of self-esteem and talks to me sometimes. I have not had a dream about Jiro since I last saw him.  
  
Masaru will carry the scars of last year for the rest of his life. There is nothing that can undo the level of trauma he suffered. It is simply a hindrance, like any personal defect, to be dealt with and worked around rather than ignored. He is a quieter and calmer little boy than he used to be, though visions of Mother or the android twins will still rouse him from his sleep. The shrieks and wails that sent me rushing to his bedside occur with a less alarming frequency now. At first, nothing less than infinite weariness could allow us to succumb to the undercurrent of sleep, but we have both learned to trust the signals of lethargy our bodies relay to us again.  
  
The first few weeks following Jiro's departure, Masaru would cling to me through every task I would effectuate around the house. He would haul whatever space ship toy or truck he was playing with from room to room as I performed my daily chores. Occasionally, he would hover around me, so that I would have to delicately maneuver my way about the room, or I would be in danger of tripping over him. I silently observed this, along with other behavioral traits he had abandoned from early childhood now resurfacing. I let it go. At the time, he needed the stable presence of someone he loved. Eventually, he accepted that I would not abruptly leave or return, like the unpredictable entrances and exits of my father and Jiro. His unsettling dependencies lessened, and he found the ability to play on his own again.   
  
Despite the hindrances there are moments of gratitude. I can see in him now an emerging resilience . I look after him sometimes while he is engaged in some mundane task; fetching medicine for Father, or outside slamming his volleyball against the side of house, For a moment, I notice the young man he is supposed to become, locked safely away in frame of my perfect little boy. The first time I saw, I was dumbstruck with realization. Nothing has prevented his upright maturation, as though my every inadequate effort at foster parenting were somehow magnified in him.  
  
My father, I am pleased to say, is thriving. When his mind first reconnected with his body, he was capable of the most basic of bodily functions. He could chew and blink: speech evaded him. When we went overseas, a physical therapist named Brogeen handled his exercises during the day, while I would keep a vigil if he required medicine or some other form of assistance at night. Often, as she greeted me in the morning, I would return her salutations with a wan, bleary-eyed smile, and head back to bed for a few hours. It wouldn't even occur to me that my filial duties had taken a toll on me until dawn broke; then I would feel my eyes start to burn, and my thoughts would slip from me as though I were trying to grasp fistfuls of water. Instead of feeling resentful of my new responsibilities, I was grateful for the silent twilight hours we could spend together.  
  
He managed to overcome every obstacle laid before him. The first task Brogeen insisted was for him to raise his little finger. I would observe these sessions occasionally. His eyes would widen. His muscles would tense. I could hear an unattractive groaning as he clenched his teeth . The sweat would seem to pop out of his pores and careen down his face. After this, I would usually approach closer and would note the darkening of his clothes as he would lay upon his bed, only to realize that he had perspired through them.  
  
"It seems unnecessary, doesn't it?," Brogeen lilted to me once after a session, "all this effort for such minimal result." Her expression softened as she turned her head towards me. "But he has to remember everything again. From the beginning." As she gathered her supplies, she continued speaking freely to me.  
  
"His body was divorced from his mind for far too long. No person was meant to endure such a thing." She shook her head, musing, "I think it's a miracle he survived at all." I may have ordinarily taken offense of her assessment of him as patronizing, but her compassion towards me then was obvious. "I think he'll get there. All the way. It will just take time."  
  
************  
  
Masaru, Father, and I have now been living back in our homeland for nearly two months. Brogeen's prognosis was correct: Father does indeed talk and move without impediment, though he now uses a walker to get around. Soon, he'll only need a cane.   
  
We have taken up temporary residence in a smaller rental property; there were far too many steps and stairways at our old house, and they would have been problematic for Father in his condition. This house is all on one floor. We're now scheduled to start packing to re-move into our old house in about a week.   
  
My father indicated to me that he wishes to inform the authorities of the former existence of the dissolved Dark, in an attempt to exonerate Jiro. We both know that he may be prosecuted as a result, but neither of us is at ease knowing the public's ignorance of Dark's near dominion over them, or that Jiro was the scapegoat of my father's involvement. We have composed a solid testimony, carefully omitting any detail which could insinuate that Jiro is an android.  
  
The most we can hope for is for Father's absolution. He was, in fact, deceived into working for Gill, and then coerced into submission. A more likely outcome is a plea bargain. And if he were to be placed under house arrest, it would not be much different from the way things are now; he rarely leaves the house as it is. However, it's all conjecture at this point to try and predict what will happen. And I am not a soothsayer.  
  
And so I have allowed the cyclical rythm of the days to guide me. It pushed me past the pain, past the loss, into a thing called "time." There is no special allowance for those who have been wounded; the monotony of a scheduled world is a reality for everyone.  
  
People can no longer read the telltale signs of grief on my face. They never guess what I have been though. "Time" seems to try and force me away from my memories of Jiro. On the surface, it would appear that it has been successful in attempts. And soon, another prenatal period, nine months from the last time I saw him, will have gone by.  
  
Yet suddenly, something will trigger it in me: a note, a smile, a whisper, and he is with me in some startlingly vivid memory. I am there with him all over again, and he has managed to permeate every wall of my heart, seeping into my very soul. 


	2. Entry 2

I was distracted. Sitting behind the wheel of my new blue car, a gift from my father, I was running errands with Masaru after spending the day in classes at the local university. I complied with Masaru's request to put on a CD, grateful to drown out my worrisome thoughts with his upbeat brand of music.

Overseas, Brogeen had taken up the task of teaching me to drive. "You're always here," she observed one day. "Why don't you get out once and a while? At least pick up some medical supplies for your father."

"It's not that I don't want to see this country," I smiled, "It's just that I'm housebound. I can't drive." Brogeen looked mortified.

"At _your _age, not having a license?! I've never heard of such nonsense!"

I diplomatically reasoned, "Where I come from, many people never bothered with driving. They walked, or rode bikes. I lived out of town, so I took the bus anytime I wanted to go somewhere."

"Well," she declared, after taking a moment to consider this, "That won't do you much good here." She stood to put on her jacket. "Tomorrow."

I looked quizzically at her. "What about tomorrow?"

"I'll help you learn; starting tomorrow." She cut short the protests forming on my lips with a sharp glance. "Don't start your selfless martyrdom act again, Mitusko. You're going to accept an offer when it's given to you." She sighed, as though relieved she'd been able to silence me without bracing the usual tidal wave of stubbornness. "And don't you worry about me. I spend most of the day with a Komyouji; I doubt spending a couple more hours a day with another one will harm me."

************

I quickly glanced over at Masaru. He had pressed his face firmly against the glass of the passenger side window, his breath leaving behind the impression of fog. He stared outside, enchanted with the blur of neat rows of houses. From his angle, they flashed so quickly, his eyes could have barely discerned any finite point of beginning or end from property to property.

Last week, I had received a note from his teacher. "He has been showing a reluctance to socialize with his peers," the grim note stated. 

__

Well, no kidding, I had silently thought. _If the only two friends you had made in a long time were really spies of your father's enemy, and tried to kill you-along with two people you loved, would_ you _have some reservations about opening up to new people?_

I wanted to help my brother, but I didn't dare take him to a psychologist. Masaru knows what he is and is not allowed to say about the past few months, but what if after gentle coaxing, he were to slip and allude to the fact that Jiro is an android? I'll let you reason the possible scenarios that would ensue on your own. After all, I didn't see much point to taking him to one, if all he would be able to do is lie.

The body of the note detailed, "He appears to be daydreaming. I think he is not listening, but when I call on him, he always gives me the correct answer." That didn't surprise me. Father and I had Masaru placed in an advanced class at a school known for academic prestige, but he was already bored. He wasn't being challenged, so he spent most of the school day sketching in his notebooks. Leafing through them one day, I found innumerable castles, knights, and of course androids. All of them had a detail beyond what ordinary nine-and-a-half year olds would typically portray. They were quite good.

In an apologetic afterthought, the letter hastily concluded with such phrases as: "...very well behaved...sweet...otherwise a joy to have in class..."

Despite my reservations, I knew I had to address the issue before it perpetuated into something worse. The day of the letter's arrival, he saw my flustered expression from the hallway. With concern etched in his brow, he approached me and put his hand on my arm. "I know it's been hard for you. I'm not asking you to pretend, but do you think...you could at least _try_? If it's too simple, Father and I will put you in another school. But we'll never know unless you're willing to make the situation that you're in right now work."

He nodded, his expression mimicking a much more mature person. His desired effect might have been successful, if it weren't for the fact that his baseball cap pushed his ears forward, giving them an elf-like slant. "I will, Mitsuko. You're going to be so proud of me."

_I already am..._

*************************************

I clenched the wheel, taking in the steady stream of stimuli the road proffered. It was my Biology professor, who was also my advisor, that I was trying not to think about. It wasn't as though he had done anything..._improper_, yet his presence would somehow manage to make me ill at ease. I could never point to a specific example of flirtation, but I sensed strongly that he wanted something from me. 

I had done nothing to be set apart from any of my classmates: sitting in the back of the lecture hall, applying myself, but taking great pains not to be the student who raised her hand the most in class. I resented how he singled me out, just because he was getting intimations that I was intelligent. It made all of the other hardworking students feel belittled and dense.

He was young, still in his mid-twenties. With all of us, he instructed that without exception, we were to call him by his first name; Jonathan. I felt uncomfortable without the distance of formality to separate us. For me, he extended himself further. I could feel his smile alight when I stepped into his office. Occasionally, he would offer me rides to South Campus, which I would always refuse. He would quickly rebut my protests with excuses of his own. "You're carrying way too many books to be walking," was his favorite refutal. "You'll throw your back out of alignment if you keep doing that."

************************************

Today, he had cheerfully strided over to me while I sat on a bench, organizing my papers. From a distance, I could note what appeared to be a green twig perched on his forearm. I lowered my head, pretending to be engrossed in filing my exams away. I had hoped to go unnoticed, but I felt the jolt of a weight plunking itself down next to me. I looked up, and found his insanely beaming face. "Hey. Have a caught you at a bad time?" I shook my head. Verbally responding didn't seem smart, as I was unsure myself exactly how tactless I could become with him. "Can you believe this? It's amazing he's surviving in this weather."

There, on his shoulder, the twig moved, parting slender limbs from its main trunk. It was a praying mantis. With redoubtable silence, I watched the tapering green unfold itself; fragile and rigid like origami.

_But this thing_, I marveled to myself, _it has consciousness_. Its head facing me, I saw its arm elongate, as if to beckon me.

_Like that time...It looked right into me..._

Its shrill, staccato speech...

...Sunken eyes...sleek metallic exoskeleton.

Its cries filled up each room...

...of my dead house...

"Hey. Hey...!" My communion with the insect broken, I stared at Jonathan to see what he could possibly want. "Well, okay! I guess I _have_ interrupted you."

I shrugged, "It's nothing. I'm fine. Just...preoccupied."

"You were contemplating how to approach the essay I've assigned to you." I couldn't decipher if he was being facetious.

I forced a smile, trying to force that night away from my mind. It felt like plastic. "Yes. That's it exactly."

My evasiveness left him unabashed. If anything, it heightened the mystery, making me all the more appealing. He was so transparent, I could link his every expression with a thought. He stood. "I'm going to find a suitable home for our friend now. I just thought I'd see how you were doing."

"Uh-huh."

"Let me know if you want access to some of my books for research." His hand rested on my arm.

"Sure." It was all I could manage to choke out.

As he departed, I was left with a sense of revulsion. I could still feel the impression his palm had left on my arm. 

_He would have received a warmer reception if he were courting that darned mantis, _I thought wryly. I caught myself, and immediately began to chide this surfacing pettiness.

_How can I be so juvenile? He's done nothing but support my abilities. And I haven't been charitable at all. He's a foreigner; that's probably the only reason why he's so casual. _I leaned back, and consoled myself by trying to remember what Jiro's touch had felt like. I froze as my mind located it again: the worn, plush leather of his gloves. It came like a swift hit of seratonin, and I was fine again.

************************************

Masaru had graduated from fogging up the window to tracing impressions on it. I spotted a small smiley face he had left behind. "Did you remember everything?" He queried.

"I think so. Father asked for some new software for his laptop, and you were the one with the grocery list."

"Well, _I_ haven't forgotten anything. Are we going anywhere else?"

"No, not today." He lowered his eyes, disappointed. He probably wanted to spend some time outside of the house. He'd been so good about assisting Father at home these past few months, he too had neglected his exploratory nature. That, or maybe he was hoping we would stop by the toy store.

It was dark out by the time I pulled into our driveway. I opened the door, and dropped the keys down on the table summarily. Masaru bolted to his bedroom to finish the remainder of his homework. I set my backpack and plastic bags by the couch, and noticed the sound of metal scraping against the linoleum. From the kitchen, Father was slowly moving towards me in his walker. He carefully avoided all of the packaging boxes full of glassware, and settled in front of me.

"Did you find everything?"

"No problems. It's all here."

"How was traffic?"

"Fair." He leaned in, and pressed his lips against my forehead.

As I reached down to pick up the bag of groceries, he continued, "I've hired some help to spruce up the house before moving day." I met his gaze. "It hasn't been maintained at all since we left. It would have been too much work for you."

"All right." I curved an "S" around my father and the boxes to the kitchen to put away the food. I opened the refrigerator, and was kneeling to put away the food when I heard a phone ringing off from somewhere. "Masaru!" I shouted.

"He has his door closed. He can't hear you," said Father. I jumped up, and stumbled my way around the boxes to locate the ringing. The only unpacked phone left was the one in the living room.

I hit the "talk" button. "Hello?"

"Mitusko, it's Ha-(_static_). You've...(_crackle_)."

I winced at the sound of electronic fuzz. "Mr. Hattori?" I called into the phone. Mr. Hattori and I had been good about communicating since I left. We corresponded mostly through e-mails, though occasionally I would call him. From time to time, he tell me about cases he was working on, without disclosing any private information.

"Yeah, it's me." His voice rose over the din, "Can you hear me better now?"

"Yes!"

"Yeah....I'm a pay phone now, so I don't know how great the reception's gonna be." There was something strangely hollow in his tone of voice.

"Your cell phone needs to be recharged," I surmised. I could hear Father approaching from behind. There was a pregnant pause from Mr. Hattori's end.

I had begun to wonder if we had been disconnected, when he responded, "Mitsuko, have you had the television on this evening?"

"No; I just walked in."

"What about in the car? Was the (_fizzle_) radio on?"

"I had a CD on." The pause was excruciating. He was skirting telling me something big, but I had no idea what it was.

"I think you'd better turn on the TV."

I located the remote control, and hit the "power" button. "All right, it's on. What am I-"

I halted in mid-sentence. As the picture came into focus, I could see an amateur video recording of the cityscape. There was a toy robot, similar in design to the Transformers Masaru played with, strategically placed in front of the camera. My eyes narrowed, as I visually scanned the image for meaning. Finally, I found a thread.

_A thread of smoke_.

It curled upwards from one of the buildings before billowing out to the atmosphere. There was something happening to the city.

_Tourists_, I thought impatiently. _Why don't they just move that silly thing so I can see what_-

Then, the realization struck.

_It isn't a toy. And it's not in front of the camera; it's shot from afar._

I felt a leaden weight pulling on the base of my stomach. The late afternoon sun glinted off the machine's chrome as it marched on. The buildings were actually being razed by this thing. As they toppled, I saw a fine mist of taupe debris burgeoned up to obscure the sky. It boomed in the direction of the camera, and soon it too was engulfed, leaving nothing visible. It quaked on impact of the nebulous film, and then the transmission cut, turning the screen to snow.

_It's gone. All of it. It's gone._ My mind was stuck chanting the phrase.

I suddenly recalled I still had the phone to my ear. "Where is Etsuko?!" I cried. Father had seated himself on the couch, his face paling. I looked over my shoulder, and found Masaru peering at me from behind.

"Etsuko is fine. She's right here." I turned back to face the television. The stations were playing the footage over in a loop. Mercifully, they were playing it without sound.

"Oh, my God." The doors of my heart had begun to slam like a shutter in a gail. My hands felt numb. I hadn't experienced this in months, but I knew exactly what had come over me.

It was panic.

_Stop it! Stop it now! You have to be able to think!_ I struggled to regain control of myself. I fought through the chaos in my mind for clarity.

"The machine's been dismantled. It looks like there was a mutiny from inside, and it crashed. I think...(_snap_) the only thing the police will find in it are corpses." His voice had reverted to a calm, level tone. I latched onto its placid effect, and permitted it to pull me out of my tumult.

"Where you live...it's not there anymore."

"Yeah. Those buildings where Etsuko and I lived are gone. But we're fine, Mitsuko."

I took in a breath, "Is there some way you two can manage to come here?"

"There's been a mass exodus from the city. Most people are just walking out, but there may (_pop_) be a few operational cars and buses before the police block off the roadways." He paused. Masaru came up beside me, and wrapped his arms around my side, as if he knew I needed the support. He was watching the TV as intently as I had been.

"There's a long line for the pay phone here," Mr. Hattori continued. " People are getting (_hiss_) pretty impatient. I don't want to scare you, but I don't know when the next chance I get to contact you will be."

"Just try and find a way here," I urged. "I'm going to take the day off from school tomorrow; I'll stay home and wait for your call. I don't care what time it is, just make sure you let me know what's going on."

"Okay." I thought I heard Etsuko's voice murmuring something to Mr. Hattori, but I wasn't sure. "I know," he said to the unidentified female voice. There was another pause. "Mitsuko?" he finally whispered. "There's something else (_snap_)... The person who dismantled that machine, he's still alive.

"It's Jiro."


	3. Entry 3

Masaru and I were outside. The mid-morning sun still bedazzled the front lawn through the filter of dense tree branches. From the porch where he and I sat, I could see their entanglement yielding to every slight breeze, becoming grandiloquently animated like a shadow play of ballet dancers.

Masaru had organized his illustrations while we waited, setting a stone from the driveway on top of the pile to keep the wind from scattering them. He had settled them down midway between himself and me. To stave off his restlessness, he had brought one of his adventure novels out to read, and was presently engrossed in it. Neither one of us were bothered by the sodden, decomposing wood boards beneath where we sat, although we were both staining our clothes with its mulch-like dregs.

Masaru had long since decided to become a famous author and illustrator of children's fantasy books. Each of the characters from the copious pile next to me owned some bounteous life beyond his or her two-dimensional confines, which Masaru would verbally storyboard to me whenever I was able to listen.

The air around us was steeped with the scent of raw earth. The thaw had begun. 

I lingered in the stillness for a full moment before I turned and thumbed through Masaru's work. Stuck in the middle of the etchings of warring knights and puckish halflings was a depiction of a young girl. Without the aid of an episodic backdrop, she appeared stark. Although not as precise in rendering as the others, there was a particular emphasis placed on the rippling effects of her hair, and the curvature of her eyelashes. Her left hand grasped some sort of wand.

"This one isn't yours."

Masaru's head surfaced from his novel. "Oh. No, Yoko gave me that one."

"Who is Yoko?"

"A girl from my class." I expected that to be the extent of his confidence, but he shoved his hand into his jacket, rummaged, and pulled out a wallet-size photograph. "This is her," he explained, and passed me the photo.

The gloss of the photo's veneer had dulled from residing in Masaru's cluttered jacket pocket for an indeterminate period of time. She had dark, chin length hair, and wore a sly, Cheshire Cat smile. Her eyes were crowned with thick lashes.

I returned the photograph. "She's very pretty, Masaru."

He shrugged, "I dunno. I guess." The corners of his lips upturned slightly before he hid them once more behind his book.

Pleased, but not wishing him to become self-conscious, I murmured, "Good."

_It's about time..._

The wind stirred the trees once more, shaking a small flock of blackbirds off the comfort of the boughs. Wings flapping furiously, the birds departed, seeking a better perch somewhere else. Then as the cawing faded, I detected the distress of tires against a stone-paved driveway. The engine of a car droned in the distance; it hummed like a beehive.

I rose, and scanned the obscured horizon. Once the passengers made their way past the clearing of the trees, I would be able to see them. But I already knew who it was.

I hurried down the steps and through the front yard, greeting Mr. Hattori's weathered car. I spotted Mr. Hattori's jovial face. From the passenger's side lounged Etsuko, still asleep from the journey. Mr. Hattori gently nudged Etsuko with a free palm. Coming to, she made a furtive swipe at her eyes with the heel of her hand. I planted myself approximately six feet away from the parked car and waited while Masaru rushed to flank me.

Mr. Hattori eased out of the car first. He looked more weathered than I had ever recalled seeing him, his smile mapped a few more lines in his face. Yet there was nothing clouded or troubled in his expression. "Hey. How ya doin', honey?"

I suddenly felt very young. "Good," I blushed, momentarily forgetting that it was incorrect grammar.

Masaru didn't correct me. Instead, he literally jumped in front of Mr. Hattori and thrust out his hand. Mr. Hattori's smile broadened as he grasped Masaru's slender hand with his own rough one. I watched as Masaru began to prattle happily about the time he spent overseas. He was more exuberant than I had seen him in months.

A car door slammed, and the drowsy Etsuko was standing in front of me. As always, she was wearing a striped shirt, and hid her incisive eyes behind a thick pair of librarian glasses. She stared at me for a long moment, uncharacteristically silent.

She was the one who broke her composure first. Abruptly, she grabbed me in tight embrace. "I've missed you!" she exclaimed. This was downright gushing for a young woman who was so stingy in expressing her more tender emotions.

"I've missed _you_," I returned, and meant it. It's odd; it didn't occur just how much I _had_ missed them until they were both standing in front me.

"It's been too long."

"It has." Inadequately, I could only mirror back her sentiments.

She took me at arm's length, studying my face. Suddenly, she rolled her eyes. "You haven't aged. You still look like you're about fifteen." She sighed, and dropped her hands to her side. "In the meantime, I must look like the Crypt Keeper."

"You look lovely."

She bust into laughter. "Mitsuko, I've spent the past five nights in one of the government-sanctioned, makeshift shelters. And some people in the city weren't so lucky. They've been sleeping outside. Don't tell me; it must have been the spa they had that's given me this youthful glow." She called over to Mr. Hattori, who was pulling luggage out of the trunk, "What do you think? Was it the sauna, or the facials?"

Mr. Hattori shrugged, "Well, maybe that's what you preferred, but I liked the acupuncture sessions."

I shook my head. "I still say you look great."

"You haven't changed." As she tucked a strand of her acorn brown hair behind her ear, a jewel on her hand caught a sunbeam, dispersing prismatic splendor. Masaru hugged her before he tended to the suitcases in front of him.

I smiled at her, "Etsuko,...are you engaged to someone?"

She realized what I was gazing at, and let her hand drop. "Yeah,..." She nodded towards Mr. Hattori, "The dope finally got smart and quit beating around the bush."

I gawked at her, "The two of _you_...? This whole time?! I honestly had no idea!"

She seemed bemused by my stunned reaction. "You don't have to feel left out. The only other people who know about it are my parents."

My eyes widened, "Etsuko, your parents-were they ..._there?_" I faltered in my speech, unable to contrive a way to proceed in a painful inquiry.

She tried to take her luggage away from me. My grasp on the handle was too firm for her. "My parents live two hours away from the city. South of where you live. They're fine. They don't travel much," she smiled wryly. I glanced behind me. Masaru was already dragging Mr. Hattori's two suitcases across the lawn like a slipshod bellboy. Mr. Hattori trailed behind him, surprised by my brother's rapid gait.

"I _am_ happy for you, it's just...I never saw any romance forming between you two. I'm completely amazed."

She considered this as the wind picked up and disheveled our hair, "Well, not everyone falls in love as dramatically as you do, Mitsuko."

"It wasn't dramatic; it was surreal." I hefted the first of her bags towards the house. "Don't even think about getting your own luggage," I called over my shoulder. "You're the guest, and you've had a long journey."

"And you," Etsuko shouted back, "you still act like you're forty!"

***************************************

Inside the house after I had hung their jackets and set the stove for tea, Mr. Hattori and Etsuko settled on the chocolate brown sofa, while Masaru found his place in the book he had been reading. They raised their eyes towards the ceiling, and the entrance chandelier trembled as vociferous thumps reverberated through the hallway. I laughed, "Listen, do you hear that? That's my father; he's using his walker upstairs. He's really supposed to be using his cane more often now, I ought to be firmer with him about it."

Mr. Hattori chuckled. "It's really something that you were able to get moved in so fast by yourself, Mitsuko. Was the house in bad shape when you got here?"

"There was some termite damage. A couple of floorboards needed to be replaced. It wasn't too expensive, though. Thankfully."

"We're not really _that_ moved in," Masaru interjected.

"I don't see any boxes around," observed Etsuko.

Masaru grinned, "That's 'cause we put them all in the basement."

"Don't worry about them, then." Etsuko had adopted an insistent, formal tone. "We'll help wherever we're needed." She nudged Mr. Hattori, "Won't we?"

Mr. Hattori sheepishly nodded, "Sure."

I sighed, exasperated, "You've not been here for five minutes! Don't talk about that now."

Etsuko's eyes narrowed. She stared at Masaru while she adjusted the crooked frame of her glasses. "Masaru."

"Yup?"

"Go stand next to your sister." He willingly rolled off his stomach, and scrambled to my side. Etsuko's mouth was agape. "Do you see this, Hanpei? He's so tall!"

Etsuko was right. Masaru now came up to my shoulder in height.

"Of course I noticed," Mr. Hattori retorted. "No one can stay a shrimp for _that _long." He smirked at Masaru, who grinned back in reply.

I let my hand rest on the crown of his head, "Yes. Masaru's going to get so big. Just like our brother, Ichiro." My commentary was met with puzzled expressions from the two. I clarified, "When I found the picture of him in Father's diary last fall, I didn't want his memory to stay buried. I went through some of Father's old files to uncover more about him. I guess you could say I exhumed him." I mussed Masaru's hair before he sat back down again. "He had a towering frame."

The two betrothed didn't comment. I looked up at the ceiling. The vibrations had ebbed. "I'll tell Father you're here."

************************************

Father had just commenced a round of his physical therapy exercises, which neither one of us wanted to disrupt. By the time we entered the living room, Mr. Hattori and Etsuko were halfway through their tea. "We helped ourselves. We hope you don't mind," Etsuko told me.

"No, of course not."

Etsuko rose, sloshing a remaining quarter of the tea into its saucer, as she pulled Mr. Hattori up with her. "Doctor Komyouji, sir. We just wanted to say how appreciative we are that you've opened your home to us like this. Sir."

Mr. Hattori nodded, "We're much obliged. It's a very generous offer for you to extend to us."

Father dismissed them both with a wave of his hand before gripping the arms of his chair to sit. "You can consider this as your home for as long as you like. You're welcome here." He eased into the chair. "So we can skip the formalities. Sit back down." I beamed at both of them.

Mr. Hattori, seated, stared into his cup. "Mitsuko. I'm sure you're anxious to hear about Jiro."

"I'm relieved." He raised his head.

"I'm glad that nothing-_nothing_ has harmed him. I've been living off my hope of it. Now, I finally have some true evidence."

"But Mitsuko, doesn't it bother you that he hasn't returned to you after such an ordeal?" Mr. Hattori set the cup and saucer down on the coffee table. Etsuko pursed her lips and held a sidelong glance at her former employer, as arguments forming behind her coke-bottle glasses she allowed to dissipate.

"He doesn't know that I've returned yet. I'm certain he's been back to this house, though." I took a breath. "This was meant to be private, but I suppose you might as well know now. Before we moved away, we had this entire house vacated of personal items. There was nothing left. We didn't want any evidence that could the police could link to Jiro. They would have used it to try and apprehend him. But I couldn't stand the thought of him riding up the hill to an empty house, and having him think we had abandoned him. So before everything was either burned or packed away, I left our book of _Pinocchio_." I watched as Etsuko latched hands with Mr. Hattori. It was the first sign of affection I had seen between them. "It has a special significance between us," I continued. "I left an message for him on the first page before the story began, but I didn't address it to him by name."

"What did it say?" marveled Etsuko.

"_Jesus_, Etsuko! Didn't she just say it was private?" gasped Mr. Hattori.

Etsuko removed her hand from Mr. Hattori's. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Since when do you back off before you know everything that's going on?"

"I'm not working a case, Etsuko!"

"I ought to let both of you know before this goes any further," I interrupted, "we've established a new house rule here. It was for my own benefit, no one else's. I had fallen into a rather uncongenial habit." My father was nodding from his chair. "I believe in conveying myself as accurately as possible, that words have meaning behind them. And every time I used profane language, I was disrespecting someone else, and disrespecting myself in the process. So I decided not to use language like that anymore. Now, to keep me from reverting back, I have a curse jar. Everyone in the house who says something inappropriate has to contribute to it, as well. Do you know what a curse jar is?"

Mr. Hattori nodded, "Yeah. And how much does 'Jesus' cost?"

"A deity from any religion is one single bill." Mr. Hattori dug into the pocket of his khakis, and produced the desired money. I let it drop onto the coffee table.

"It's a real pain," muttered Masaru. "But I guess we need it."

"You'll have to forgive my daughter," Father smiled playfully. "I believe she must have been shanghaied as a child, because she uses the vocabulary of the sailors."

"For Heaven's sake," pursued Etsuko, "How many times have I heard Mitsuko curse? Maybe three, at the most."

"He's only teasing me," I reassured her, "this is how he jokes with me. Anyway, to answer your question; I wrote something to the effect that I would return for him, and that he should wait for me. And if he was fighting something-an associate of Dark or not-he would have good cause not to be physically here when I came back. I think he'd want _me_ to find _him_." The room was so still, the clicking gears of the clocks on the mantelpiece seemed to boom. "Tell me," I continued softly, "how did he look to you? What was he doing? Did you see him for very long?"

Mr. Hattori shifted his weight. "He was crying, Mitsuko."

"If I had witnessed all of that destruction, I would have been crying, too." Mr. Hattori shook his head.

"That's not it, Mitsuko. He turned around once, and he looked as though he had been crying long before he saw what that machine had done. Whatever he was upset about, I think it happened inside of that thing."

"I saw it, too," concurred Etsuko. "It was definitely Jiro. He was far off, and even when we called to him, he kept walking. He may have been too far away to hear us. I didn't like the way he was walking."

"What do you mean?"

"He was stiff," diagnosed Mr. Hattori. "He had his shoulders hunched like he was carrying something heavy. But he wasn't. I wanted to run over to him, but there was so much smoke. It closed over him, and I couldn't see what direction he had gone into. For a minute, I thought I'd lost all trace of him for good.

"But then, as I was walking in the direction I last saw Jiro, I noticed someone. An old man. He was staring towards the same spot Jiro had been, with this look of concern on his face. I probed him a little about it, and he admitted that he knew 'the boy'. That's what he called him. 

"So I became selective in what I disclosed to him. I mentioned the name 'Komyouji' to the man, and that the family was a former employer of mine, and he suddenly became very interested. He was trying to press me to tell him more, without revealing too much about himself. I _know _this game. I've dealt with it a lot in my business.

"I continued with vague responses until he finally admitted to me that he was Doctor Komyouji's former mentor. He claimed he taught you when you first began your research in robotics, Doctor. Said his name was Fuuten."

"My Lo-my word," stammered Father. "The old bat. I had no idea he was still alive."

I frowned. "You never told me about him, Father."

"I had assumed that he was another victim of Dark's. I lost contact with him quite some years ago. He must have been in hiding all this time." He rubbed his broad forehead with his hand, obscuring his largest age spot. "I had entrusted him with two Kikaider prototypes; similar in design to Jiro, but predisposed to have vastly different personality traits than he did. This was before I was confident enough to install my revised Gemini into an android. I left them without one."

"And I?" I challenged, "_I_ couldn't be entrusted with them?"

"You were too young at the time." His voice was conciliatory, as he sensed the edge of my wounded pride. "It had nothing to do with my not trusting you."

"Is there anything else I should know about?" I pursued. Father sighed.

"In the process of creating Jiro, there were dozens of half-finished models. Arms, heads. All constructed to test their efficiency before they were used for Jiro. Then came the prototypes. I had my doubts that they would ever become activated. I never told you about them because I'm not sure they _are _functioning-or have the capability to function." I wondered how forthright Father was being in disclosing this to us, but I nodded, willing to drop my inquiries.

"I didn't see any androids with him," mused Mr. Hattori, "There were two kids there, though. You didn't design them to look like children, did you?"

"No...I have no idea whose children they could be. Fuuten is a monk; he's taken a vow of celibacy. He kept to himself, and I don't recall him having any blood relatives alive."

"Well." Mr. Hattori took a final gulp of his tea. "I would have gotten further into a real conversation with him, but everything around us was so chaotic. It was the wrong time for it. We needed to find shelter, and search for survivors. So I took his information, and we promised to get in touch with one another once we had reached safety and were settled there."

"Do you think he'll keep his word?" I queried.

"I do. He's as curious as I am, and I get the impression that the man keeps his promises."

"He certainly does," My father added. "That much can be said for him."

I looked across the room at him, trying to measure whether or not he'd be receptive to the idea that was plaguing me. Masaru, having remained silent this whole time, exchanged a glance with me. I knew he was thinking exactly what I was."Father," I began, having summoned the courage to speak, "with your permission, I'd like to ask Mr. Hattori to continue his employment with us. I'd want him to investigate this fully, in a professional capacity."

Mr. Hattori and Father swapped startled looks. Finally, Father leaned in from his chair to ratify, "I'm not the one to ask. I want what you want. I want your happiness." I softened, craving his tenderness.

"Keep in mind, Mitsuko, this isn't just about you anymore," Father continued firmly, "there are hundreds of thousands of people who have been affected by last week. They're searching for loved ones, as well. Either for proof that they have survived and are camping in the shelters, or fragments of remains to have a proper funeral. You're fortunate. You _know_ the person you're looking for is alive. Think for a moment: who will _they_ turn to?" He upturned his empty palms, half shrugging.

I nearly opened my mouth to say, "the police," when I realized Father's point.

He expounded, "The police who haven't perished are strained, overburdened. They've called for relief from towns all over the country. Officers from foreign nations are flying in every day. All this just to keep the peace and establish structure. They simply can't address every missing person case as well as they ought to. Now, who do you think the bereaved will turn to expedite their search? Consider this carefully before you say anything."

"I know." I pulled my knees in towards my chin. "Everything you've said is true. That's why I feel selfish in asking. I just...can't let it go. Am I wrong?"

"Jiro is the reason we're here." Mr. Hattori's voice was sonorous with conviction. "At the heart of everything that's occurred, lies Jiro. I know it. Now, I need to figure out what happened in that big machine last week. If I know that much, it will inform me of any other case that's related to it. And _I _need to know, for me. It was my city."

Masaru, his excitement spilling over, could no longer withstand carrying a quiet demeanor. "You'll help us?!" He exclaimed, tripping as he sprung to his feet.

Etsuko looked to my father, "We'll do whatever it takes, Doctor Komyouji. Sir." I tried to suppress my smile. I wondered how long she was going to tack on "Sir" when addressing my father, as though it where a part of his assumed name.

Mr. Hattori leaned back, a cocky grin on his face. "It's going to be Hell of a task. But I think I'll be up to it." He broke from his self-lauding reverie as he heard Masaru's jibing laughter.

"Ooh, he said 'Hell,' Mitsuko!" To Mr. Hattori, pointing an accusatory finger: "You shouldn't have said that!" Then, back to me: "How much does that cost? How much does that cost?"

"A single bill." Mr. Hattori audibly groaned as he dredged through his wallet and produced the desired currency. Little did he know he was funding the sale of my brother's new bike.

"I wonder who will wind up paying who more in the end," Mr. Hattori muttered.

************************************************

There _was _a lot to be done to the house. All of our bibelots were still stored away, and our home lacked its former flavor. Without being asked, Etsuko and Mr. Hattori descended the steps to the basement and located the boxes. We spent the day unpacking our dubious treasures.

Mr. Hattori and Etsuko both applied themselves to the task at hand with a terrible fervor. They were exhausted by evening. I found them sitting on the loveseat in the livingroom just before supper. Masaru and I decided to join them by lounging on the opposing couch.

"That's not how you sit on a sofa," Masaru instructed them. "You should sit like this." He reclined at one end. At the other end, he propped his feet up in my lap.

I laughed, "You need to change your socks, Masaru." He stuck his tongue out at me, teasingly. "That's charming, dear," I grimaced. I lifted a throw pillow wedged behind me and brought it down, crashing softly into his head. His shrieks of protests were muffled by the burgundy cushion.

I caught Etsuko gazing at me. "I wish you wouldn't keep throwing me these looks," she finally admitted.

"What looks?"

"Like you feel sorry for me."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware I was doing that."

"Don't worry," she reassured me, "if it was Gill-or some flunkee of his who did this- he's done Hanpei and me a favor." I raised my eyebrows.

"Both places where we lived were dumps," she declared. "They needed to be demolished. If it weren't for the big machine, they'd both be condemned, anyway."

I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle my startled laughter. "Oh, my gosh!" I gasped. "I'm sorry, that isn't funny. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Etsuko smiled. "It is funny, Mitsuko. It is because it has to be." She squeezed Mr. Hattori's hand. 

Mr. Hattori appeared wounded. "For the last time," he grumbled, "my pad was _not_ a _dump_!"

Etsuko lowered her eyes, as though chastened. But while Mr. Hattori was looking the other way, she leaned in and mouthed the words: _a dump_. Masaru and I burst into giggles. Mr. Hattori snapped his head back, then relaxed as if he were pleased to hear us laugh.

I nudged Masaru. "Why don't you go set the table for us?" He willingly rolled off the sofa and trotted to the kitchen.

Mr. Hattori broke away from Etsuko, standing up. "I should go talk to your father. Where is he?"

"In the kitchen." He stretched his joints before following Masaru.

The room still again, I could hear the reverberations of the clocks. After a moment, I stood up as well. "I can get you something," I told Etsuko, "do you need anything?" She shook her head.

"How much does Masaru know about all of this? I mean, what happened last week."

"He knows everything." Etsuko's eyes widened.

"The networks have been running marathons of the footage. You know how sensational they can become." I smoothed out my skirt. "I didn't let him stay in front of the TV for more than a few minutes each day. But I can't keep this from him. He figures everything out on his own, anyway." 

I half turned to go, then paused before I finally confessed, "I just don't understand. How can you be so calm-after going through such an ordeal?"

"Have a seat." 

************************************************

"I _wasn't_ calm...not when it was first happening." Etsuko was staring off, her eyes locked in a trance. "It's funny; Hanpei always acts like the worrywart. A frantic mother hen when he thinks something bad is going to happen. But then we're really there, in the middle of some catastrophe we didn't see coming, and _I'm_ the one who's falling to pieces. Him...he knows exactly what to do.

"I remember how much I wanted coffee that day. We'd carefully rationed your generosity, Mitsuko, so we weren't so broke that we couldn't afford coffee. But I hated the brand he had bought.

"I was being petty, picking fights with him all day. I was in the throws of caffeine withdrawal, and after sampling the pot I had brewed, I started nagging him that I wanted to stop by a cafe and pick up a decent cup.

"He didn't want to be bothered. He was beginning a new case, and there were some leads he wanted to contact before the end of the day. For once, he was turning down our drug of choice."

Her narration was obsessed with the mundane. Perhaps the smaller details comforted her. I waited patiently for her to progress.

"I told him what a beautiful afternoon it was turning out to be," she resumed. "Was. I whined that I didn't want to go by myself, that he should get out of the office and join me. And he-he's so good. He's peaceable, you know? He left just to make me happy.

"So we were there, and the place was bustling with activity. Same as it always was. Everybody seemed so absorbed in their own routine, no one acknowledged anyone else. They were pausing to feed their addiction before getting back to their lives. And I...I don't really remember what I was thinking about... Probably the paperwork we were going to have to fill out when we got back. Or the bills I hadn't paid yet.

"We were standing outside, by some tables, and I was telling Hanpei about what I wanted to do over the weekend,...and I heard this awful sound." She shook her head. "It's kind of hard to describe. It was like a thousand panes of glass shattering at once. It startled the heck out of me. I yelped at it. I spun around, and I do remember saying, '_What was that_.' I was looking pretty hard, and at I couldn't see anything wrong. Then I noticed this steel tower. It was blocks away from me, and it was huge. This looming structure had just parked itself in the middle of the street.

"I was really stupid, Mitsuko. I took a few steps into the street to get a better view. Everyone in the street had stopped to stare, too. I was too curious trying to figure out what it was to listen to their comments. I had to crane my neck all the way up to see, but I saw it was connected to something. The steel form was an _appendage_. It had a body and a head.

"I would have just stood there, gawking at the thing in disbelief, but I felt someone grab my hand. It was Hanpei. He broke into a run, and started dragging me along with him. We ran smack into a group of onlookers, and I almost broke my hold on him. He paced himself, so our hands wouldn't come unlocked, though.

"I could hear more crashing glass. Then these thunderous booms, surrounding me on every side. Over the din, I heard Hanpei roaring, '_Don't look back_!'

"Every time my feet touched the ground, I could feel the earth shaking. It threw me off balance, a little. Now I could hear people screaming, too." She blinked, her eyes glossing over with tears. "And I thought, _whatever's behind us, it's going to catch up with us soon_. I was convinced I was going to die right there, in the middle of the street.

"I found out what everyone was screaming about." Her voice was nearly matter-of-fact at the recounting of her discovery. "This hot gust of wind grazed my face from behind. The _smell_...it was like burning tar. It broke over me, just like a tsunami: _black air_.

"It wasn't just the smoke, Mitsuko. I could feel sediments settling onto my skin, like condensation. Fine particles of the buildings were in the air. Glass fragments, too."

I gasped, "Etsuko, that could have gotten into your _lungs_! That's the same as exposure to asbestos." I belatedly realized that I could be making her feel worse.

"I intend on going to a physician around here this week, getting myself checked out." She laughed nervously. She'd started to fidget with her hair, curling the ends around her pointer finger. "It was night," she murmured abruptly. "The air was so thick, it had blackened out everything. There was no moon, no stars. It was over my glasses; my bifocals were shielding my eyes. We couldn't run anymore, we couldn't see what we would run into, or away from, or towards. I had pulled a handkerchief over my mouth and nose, but it didn't help. My throat was raw. I just wanted to breathe.

"Had we survived the demolished buildings only to slowly _suffocate_ to death? I was probably a long way away from having that happen, but that's what I was thinking at the time. I was shaking uncontrollably. I called out to Hanpei, who was this opaque grey form in front of me. I slipped up, and actually started calling him 'Boss' again. Which I hope he wasn't paying attention to," she laughed bitterly. "I'll never be able to live it down.

"The explosions had stopped, but now I heard thuds. The sky was falling. It was raining large pieces of building, and the people who were in them. Or parts of them." She wrung her hands. "As we slowly felt our way through, I know my foot sank into something soft a couple of times. It was probably a corpse. And I _know_ I should have stopped right then, or turned around to find out if they were alive!" Tears had begun to flow out of her unblinking eyes. Mucus was running out of her nose. "I should have made Hanpei stop, but I didn't. We left them behind."

"Etsuko..." She held up a hand, cutting me off.

"Just let me finish, okay?" She heaved a shuddering sigh, and then went on, "I'm not really sure how long we were walking through that for. It was hard to get a sense of time without the sun. But then I felt something warm, like summer's humid cling on my back, and a force physically knocked me over.

"It was a bright, white light. I could see all of the debris settling through it, like motes. Imagine what it must feel like; to be in the afternoon sun, then be cast pitch black night, and then have stadium lights shining right in your eyes.

"It lasted maybe three seconds. Then it was over. The smoke cloud was clearing. I was so grateful, I was taking in huge gulps of air, although I had limited success with it. If I breathed too deeply, I'd start to have a coughing fit. I was nauseous. My head ached dully, and my ears were ringing.

"_We made it_. That's what I kept thinking: _we both made it_."

"You made it through together..."

"Yeah, we did." She paused. Her hands had gone lax on her lap. "These past few days, I've been thinking about that a lot: why we lived when so many other people didn't. Our office building was a direct hit. Our apartments had severe structural damage, from the impact of all the explosion around it. If I hadn't insisted we go out, we wouldn't be here....I think there must be a reason for it...But I guess a lot of people say that after they've lived through a disaster." She confessed this almost sheepishly.

But I didn't want an apology from her about interpreting what was lost. So I began my own admission; "The scientists who teach me now are so cynical. They say that the mind's need to search for order or meaning in chaos is a just neurological precept. A conceit of the brain. We're programmed to search for it, its a survival mechanism. Does that remind you of anyone?"

She began uncertainly, "Didn't you tell me once that The Bat-Machine had said something like that to you once?"

"Golden Bat," I murmured, "And that was what he said to me almost verbatim...He was more human than he realized.

"Even if it _is _true that the mind is designed to assign meaning during harrowing moments, couldn't there also be a _reason_ we were meant to look for something more? Maybe we're meant to seek out Providence, whatever it really is, because it exists."

Etsuko wiped away the remaining traces of her liquid remorse. "I'm a dope, Mitsuko, but I want to believe in that much."

"I've been through a lot of near-death experiences, myself-" Etsuko nodded emphatically.

"You _have_," she interrupted.

"-I've never met anyone my age who's lived through what I have. And I'm a scientist at heart; I base my opinions on the empirical. So...in a way, it's better that I lived more in those nine months with Jiro than any of my peers seem to have in their whole lives. I can start figuring out for myself why I was spared from death so many times.

"Even when I _should_ have been killed, something in the circumstances would shift just enough for me to live. It wasn't a fluke, or a coincidence, I _know_ it. If I live out of someone else's design for me, I need to know why, and what I'm supposed to be doing. That's why I've been searching-for something to believe in."

"You probably have a lot on your mind, too, with all the changes going on in your life in the last couple of month," Etsuko reasoned. "And now," she threw her hands up in the air, "we're left with all these questions..." Her voice trailed off. "So, what have _you_ been thinking about, Mitsuko?"

I sighed, "It's trivial, illogical. You wouldn't want to hear it."

"That's okay," she gently pushed. "I don't care what it sounds like. You can tell me if you want to."

"It's just that this _house_...So much has happened here...You know, some religions connect evil with location. If a vile act has been perpetrated for a long time in the same place, they say it leaves an impression, a mark upon the place. I wonder if it was the best idea to come back to it...But then, I _had _to."

"For Jiro."

"Yes."

"What are you going to do?" I stood. 

"I'm withdrawing from my classes tomorrow. I'm too involved in all of this to let you and Mr. Hattori do all of the work."

"That's an awfully big decision-Hanpei and I can work without your help if you're not comfortable-"

"I _want_ to do it," I overlapped.

************************************************

I was cold.

A glacial wind cut me from behind, sending my hair flying around my face. I pulled my jacket tighter around me, and quickened my pace. The weather was vehement, but I had to follow her. She had to be made to take responsibility for all of her transgressions. I'd make her turn around to face me, see me for who I'd become without her.

The clacking footfalls of high heels echoed through the vacant streets. Somewhere unseen, gulls were crying to one another. I absently touched my cheek. The spray of the sea had begun to settle on my face. I would soon reach the docks.

I knew everything that would happen. The figure before me slowed, then ceased its evasions. It stood stolid by the fence of the dock, neither fleeing nor acknowledging me.

I opened my mouth. I would conclude my caustic interrogation in the same way I always had. The streetlights flashed on. Detachedly, I realized it had grown dark. I had been following her for some time. The figure's being tensed, and it turned itself around.

_Mother_...

Her hair undulated in the inconstant gusts of wind. I looked to her face, which had held an ardor for me long ago. It had now configured itself into a mold of taunting dispassion. She squinted her eyes, to hide their telltale disquietude.

She opened her mouth. Soon she would list for me her justifications of abandonment and neglect.

But something felt off, altered. I was aware of someone peering at me. I turned my head. A small boy was approaching me. As the streetlight fell upon him, his features became more sharply defined.

_Masaru_?

No... it wasn't him, but he was like him. This boy was gaunt; he lacked the cherubic fullness one would expect from a child of three or four. His skin tone was too sallow to be mistaken for my brother's.

And yet the eyes, the lips, the ears, were exactly as Masaru's were.

He had paused to observe me, as well. After a full moment of delicate regard, he began to meekly come up to me. I watched him in shock.

_He wants to take me away from this_...

-_To protect me-_why_?_

I opened my arms to this winsome, frail boy. But even as I began to welcome him, I instinctively turned back to see if the woman who disavowed ties with me had observed him as well.

Her mien had changed markedly. She didn't want to notice me, but through her cool facade was a certain recognition of this infantile boy. As the he kept drawing closer to me and not her, the lines in her face set stiffly into a pose of fury. She shot her livid stare right to me. Instinctively, I felt I had done something wrong, like a child who has accidentally walked into a room where grown-ups are having a dirty conversation.

The free hand that was not clutching the department store bag disappeared into the folds of her flowing trench coat. Her face radiated malice towards me as she pulled out a small, dark object and aimed at my heart. The lamps above proffered no indication of her purpose, and it took a moment for me to cognize.

_A gun_...

I wanted to plead with her; to beg her to spare me, to want me again, but my words dissolved under her commanding glower.

This time was different. There was no trace of hesitation as she began to pull the trigger back.

_Oh_,_ God_.

I heard the explosion of the firing weapon, and then...

_White_.

_White_?

Faintly, I could detect the sound of a flock of birds busily twittering somewhere far away. A ray of sunlight had struck the patch of white I was staring at. I felt the weight of several layers of blankets on top of me.

_The ceiling_-_I'm looking at the ceiling_..._When did I awaken_?

I sat up in my bed and searched my surroundings. The covers had shifted in my sleep. I felt the blankets against my legs; my white cotton gown had become wedged high above my thighs. My heart rate settled as I took in the comfort of my simple, austere room.

I took deep breaths. These nightmares were the last thing that I needed. In tracking Jiro, I reasoned that I was going to encroach something jumbled-but certainly painful. I wondered how long I would keep chasing my mother down that frigid night. _Forever?_ I pondered silently to myself. God forgive me, but I still wanted to see her after I die.

I threw my covers back and stumbled to the door, not bothering to check in the dresser mirror for the night's havoc on my body. I trudged to the kitchen and found Etsuko, already dressed, feasting on waffles.

"You look lousy." She took an enormous bite of the toaster-prepared delicacy.

"Where is Mr. Hattori?"

"He went to the store," she muffled. "You were almost out of milk." She swallowed and smiled, suddenly self-conscious. "I hope you don't mind us helping ourselves here."

I didn't reply. Instead, I pulled out a chair across from her and sank into it.

Etsuko put her fork down. "What's wrong?" she demanded.

"I've remembered something my mother said-just before she died."

************************************************

Mr. Hattori arrived back after I had dressed. While in the parlor, I could hear the ruckus of the kitchen door slamming and a chorus of intersecting voices: my father's, Etsuko's, and Mr. Hattori's. Masaru had left for school five minutes ago. I was filing a pile of discarded bills that had been carelessly tossed on a table when the door swung open.

"Hey, Mitsuko."

"Good morning." While my mind was still reeling from last night's vivid imagery, I saw Mr. Hattori's crestfallen gait coupled with a resignment in his face.

My look to him was full of unuttered inquiries. He shrugged his shoulders. "This Reverend Fuuten guy I said I was going to contact...I called him before anyone else here was awake. Apparently he's an early riser." I consciously chose _not_ to count the raccoon-like circles under his eyes while he locked his gaze with me. "He's refused to talk to me."

My fists involuntarily clenched. "_What_?" I gasped.

"He said you were the only one he would meet with. He asked for you by name." He paused, allowing his words to penetrate. I shook my head, dumbstruck.

"With _me_?" I finally echoed densely. "That doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't he rather meet with my father?"

"He said what he has to say concerns you most of all." His brow arched as he continued, "You know, I was talking to your father about it, and he didn't seem very insulted by the slight."

"I think he's lost the desire to study humanoid robots. He's probably relieved that he doesn't have to be involved anymore...That's my only guess."

He folded his arms. "Etsuko said you had wanted to ask me something."

"There's another capacity I'd like you to assist me in. I want you to look at birth records from my mother's hometown over the past six years. I doubt they'd be difficult to obtain," I reassured him. "Look for a male with the last name of Sagamoto, or Helbert. If he does exist, I guess he'd be a change-of-life baby. It's not that unusual."

He cleared his throat and shifted his weight, seemingly caught off guard. "That wouldn't be difficult at all...But why ask me this _now_? You've never said you might have another brother before."

"I'm not sure he's real, it's just...a hunch."

"Now, wait a minute, Mitsuko." He had regained his bearings and began addressing me with his usual straightforward edge. "You want me to help you; I'm fine with that. But that means I'm going to ask you some questions you might not feel comfortable answering. When I'm acting as just your friend, it's off limits to me. But when you ask me to investigate for you, you can't answer me with anything less than total honesty." He waited expectantly. "So, what aren't you telling me?" 

"I had a dream about him, all right?" I sighed, flustered, "last night, I dreamed about a little boy, and I'm not sure why." I walked away from him, feeling heat rushing to my face, and stopped at the window to stare. There were a pair of morning doves outside, feathers puffed, contentedly dozing. "Do you think I've gone mad?" I whispered, more to the doves than to Mr. Hattori.

I heard his footsteps from behind. I felt him hovering near me, and I heard the words, "I'll get started right away."

"Thank you."

His footsteps retreated, and I heard the door shut behind him.

My thoughts I kept as my companions. I wondered if Mr. Hattori or I were to ever meet him in the street through chance, would we be able to recognize him as my kin?

************************************************

I didn't recognize the block where so many of my classes were held. I didn't hear the animated chatter of my peers or the blaring car horns and boom boxes. An eerie stillness had suffused the landscape in the absence of its daily action. There were a few students I passed on the way to Jonathan's office, talking on cell phones in somber tones to family members. The thaw had facilitated sinkholes of mud all around the campus. As I strode through The Quad, I found I had to move quickly, or the thick puddles would try to claim my ballet flats. In broad circles on the lawns, worms and maggots had tunneled out to seek oxygen.

_They'll take the bodies the crews haven't found yet_, I thought grimly.

The dormitory buildings behind me, I could hear no less than five separate broadcasts detailing the ravaged west end of the city. The well-composed voices of the journalists resounded from the students' windows.

_"...So far believe this to be an isolated act..."_

"...The motives of which are still under investigation.."

"_...Has reassured the public that every effort..."_

"...New bodies are still being uncovered upon the hour, yet officials of the city insist there may still be survivors trapped..."

Along the walkway on a bench, I spotted a girl with streaks of electric yellow dyed into her hair. Her eyelids were puffy, and her breaths were deep sighs, as though she had just concluded a fit of weeping. I stopped and observed her from several feet away, immobile by my intrusion. It would be callous of me to pass her by without proffering help, but rude for me to get involved in her personal grief. A minute passed. From the way her face was wrought, it seemed she had found no release in her previous activity. Her sorrow was unbearable. Finally, I willed myself to sit down next to her on the bench.Without speaking, I slowly draped my arm along the edge of the bench. Not making eye contact, she abruptly crumpled into me. I let my arms encircle her broad frame, and we stayed like that for a few minutes.

Eventually, she pulled away and stood up. "Thanks," she muttered to her shoes. She made a fleeting swipe at her nose with the back of her hand, and shoved it into her pocket. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this." She shook her head. "I was the reckless one, I was supposed to die before she did."

_Who is "she_?_"_ I pondered silently. _A younger sibling_?

"Maybe there's been a mistake," Electric Yellow mumbled. "I think I'm going to go pray about it somewhere, ask why."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

She shook her head more fiercely than before. "But thanks."

I watched her walk away and disappear past the descent of the hill. I was suddenly steeped in fury at the powerlessness I felt. I couldn't change anything.

Whoever she was, I haven't seen her since.

The door to Jonathan's office was swung wide open. Inside, towers of aging books had been erected on his desk, on the floor, and towards the hallway where I stood. Nearly all of the texts were stuffed with sheets of loose-leaf. Jonathan was reading from his computer, and did not hear me as I hovered about the mantle.

"Prof-Jonathan?" I said after it was clear he wasn't going to look in my direction unless prompted.

His head swung back towards me. "Mitsuko? Hi! Was there something you needed?"

I glanced down at my hands. I had been fidgeting in my nervousness. I laced my fingers together and let my hands drop in front of my skirt. "Ah, actually I-"

"Would you wait just a sec? I'm going to open the window in here; I need some fresh air circulating. Do you mind if it gets cold?"

"No," I fibbed.

His back turned to open the window, It occurred to me just how falsely penetrating his gaze was. I was convinced in that moment that he saw me only for who he wanted me to be.

"There!" he exclaimed. "Now, I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"I was wondering how I would go about withdrawing from my classes this semester," I blurted.

"Well..." He took his reading glasses off and rubbed his eye sockets with his thumb and forefinger. "You can imagine, there are many students taking that course of action this semester. I'd ask you to come in, but..." He waved his hand feebly at his mountains of clutter.

"The university has decided upon a policy of forgiveness this semester, if the reason for withdrawing involves the events of the past week," he continued. "I assume that's your reason for leaving?"

"There's a loved one I have reason to believe is still alive, ...but there's no way for me to contact him."

_Why tell him anything?_ a dark voice within me demanded.

"Here." He rummaged through the disarray on his take and effortlessly produced a stapled document. "You need to take that to The Bursar's Office and get it signed. Then, come back here, and I'll sign it. The last person who'll give it approval, if you look on the last page, is the department head."

"Thank you," I told him hastily, and quickly turned to leave.

"Wait a minute, Mitsuko!" he called before I could escape the sophomoric distaste I was feeling towards him. He pulled out a pen and began to scrawl in heavy print on a Post-It Note. "That's my e-mail address and home phone number." He stuck it on top of the documents. Looking away, and pretended to make busy with a pile meant for the waste paper basket. "If you need anything and can't reach me here, try those."

I took a step away.

"So...don't be a stranger, okay?" His voice wobbled.

I couldn't talk. I turned and strode away, nearly running as I reached the door, my throat squeezed from equal proportions of fear and repugnance.

Outside, after catching my breath, I steadied my hands well enough to dial from my cell phone. Mr. Hattori answered, "Komyouji residence, Hanpei Hattori speaking."

"Hi."

"Mitsuko?"

"Yes. It's me."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I mean-nothing I can't get over."

"What's up?"

"I've finished." I took a breath, and surveyed the campus one more time. "It's done."


	4. Entry 4

_            Akira_.

            Mr. Hattori had placed a name with an illogical vision.  I clasped it, as though mental incantation alone could make an intangible dream fragment real.

            There _were_ no birth records of the boy to be found.  His sole medical proof of existence was a record of a girl some fifteen to seventeen years of age bringing a toddler named Akira to a free clinic.  This, Mr. Hattori had reported to me mid-afternoon, three days after I had disentangled myself from the clinging desires of my advisor.

            "What was his last name?  Helbert?"  I had nearly leapt at the prospect of any new information.

            Mr. Hattori seemed uncomfortable with the way I was settling my hopes into one dim lead.  "Sakamoto," he divulged reluctantly.  "But that doesn't make him your brother," he quickly retorted to the broadening smile on my face

            _Akira_.  A beautiful, albeit common name.  Too beautiful, I surmised, for Gill to have chosen.  My mother must have named him.

            It was two days later that Mr. Hattori uncovered a new lead.  From one of his contacts, he learned that an "Akira Sakamoto" had been recently added to the list of orphaned survivors from the attack on the city.  Etsuko had left to pick up Masaru from school, and Mr. Hattori thought it best that we not wait for her.  Instead, he asked me to accompany him.

            The office which held Akira's documents was outside of the city limits.  It was too far to even make out a smoggy silhouette of the remaining skyline.  Upon arrival, Ms. Nagura, a harried woman of about thirty-five, greeted us, and led us to an austere, clinical white room.

            She pulled out a pair of rickety folding chairs for us to sit in, and began a lengthy, and flustered, explanation of why the boy was no longer in the custody of the state.

            As she spoke, the barefaced walls behind her gleamed menacingly at me.  In return, I searched the blank canvas for some visual stop in the void.

            The couple who had brought him in, apparently, had returned four days ago under the guise of a visit.  They led him out of the premises of the foster care, and have been reported missing.

            "The last name of the couple and their daughter is 'Hashimoto,'" Ms. Nagura disclosed with a grimace, "though I'm not sure if that would help either one of you.  Their house was searched, and it appears as though they left most of their belongings behind.  They may have simply fled the country, and decided to live under an assumed name.  It would be an easy time to do something of that nature.  Customs can't handle the influx of departures we've been having, and it would unfortunately be very simple to pass a small child through without anyone noticing."

            With great difficulty, she made eye contact with me, "It's odd, but I didn't get the impression that they intended to harm him.  It's as if they wanted to establish a new life with this child-without waiting for authorization to do so.  They were on the list for possible foster homes for Akira.  They even expressed a desire to adopt him."

            My refraining from comment the entire time must have emboldened her, because she went on, "None of us here had any idea that he might have immediate blood relatives living.  He looked like he had been wandering the streets for weeks before the city was attacked.  I'm not a physician, but I've seen some rather severe cases of neglect myself.  Akira wasn't someone I'd be worried about physically, but he was undernourished.  I thought you should know."  My eyes widened, although from my dreams, I had already surmised he'd been mistreated by someone.

            "If there were any indications that a sister..."  She couldn't finish her sentence. 

            "I _don't_ know that Akira is my brother," I assuaged her, "I want him to be, though.  If a DNA test could be arranged, I'm sure that would confirm it, one way or the other."  Mrs. Nagura shook her head.

            "I'm afraid that's just not possible.  The blood samples that were taken from Akira while he was here have already been disposed of."  She winced; an attempt at empathy in her own blunder. 

            She pulled open a drawer of the desk and located a file thick with paperwork.  She then passed the file to me.

            In red ink, the file read "Akira Sakamoto."  "Am I supposed to be looking at this?"

            "Probably not."  She bravely offered Mr. Hattori a lopsided smile.  "Not all of the recent orphans have been evaluated yet, but Akira's case warranted immediate attention. Take it home with you; there's a lot to read."

            "Thank you," I replied, a little taken aback.

            I opened the file.  Affixed to the papers with a clip was a polaroid photograph of a small boy.  His dark hair was still baby-fine, and impossibly straight.  He didn't have the rebellious glee that preschool children carry in themselves.  Instead, his look harkened the sobriety of a Victorian family portrait.  His eyes were enormous, and imploring.  The lucidity of my dream had dulled in the past few days, but I was still certain enough that this boy did resemble the figure who had intervened.

            Mr. Hattori leaned over from his seat to look at the photo on my lap.  "I'll be damned," He whispered loudly to me.  My brow furrowed quizically.  "I've seen him before.  It's the same kid."

            "_What_?  Where-where did you see him?"

            Ms. Nagura rose from her desk quickly.  "If you don't have any further questions, I need to get back to the children.  I apologize for cutting this meeting brief."

            Mr. Hattori held his hand up in protest.  His face bore a flinty resolve I did not recognize.   "I _do _have some more questions," he growled.  "If you're uncomfortable answering them in front of her-" he gestured to me- "then we can talk outside in the hallway, let her read over the file.  Alone.  But to just lose someone," he spat, "is unacceptable."

            Mr. Hattori managed to make her flush like a schoolgirl.  Rebuked, she nodded, "Of course.  I apologize."

            Even as I was surprised by his approach, I reminded myself, _Don't question his methodology_.

            Still wary, Mr. Hattori got up in a huff and escorted Ms. Nagura outside, leaving me to my white, windowless cell.

            The first section of Akira's file was a psychological profile.  From its precision, I gathered that the foster home had begun some initial testing, though one suggested diagnosis would contradict the next.  " Autism."  In bold font at the bottom of the page, it was what my eyes naturally fell to.  "Elect mute," was the prognosis on the next page.  Yet another suggested, "undiagnosed social disorder."  All of the psychologists described plausible conditions which could have influenced his abnormalities.  As I read, I tried to envision my own reasons for his hindrances; Akira shut away from daylight and human contact, reaching out for warmth and finding a sneering despot for a father.

            As lurid as it was, his story titillated me.  I began to read ravenously.

            _What are you doing_?

            I abruptly snatched his photograph and shut the file, repulsed at my base imaginings.

            _He's real_.  _He has a name_..._He has dreams and fears just as you_ _do_.

_            He is not a sideshow carnival attraction_.

            I snuck a glance at the photo I was clutching.  It hadn't been altered, his eyes were as beseeching as before.  That, at least, was not an elaboration of my mind.

            _What did he do to you_?

            _If I had known about you, I would have protected you from him_.

            The room was too empty.  I tucked the file under my arm and left, before the white swallowed me whole.

            Two days later. 

            Etsuko pulled Mr. Hattori's car into an open spot next to a park.  Before unfastening her seat belt, she checked her eyes in the overhead mirror.  "Allergy season is coming, just wait a month or so.  Joy."  She removed her glasses in an attempt to better inspect the invitational chestnut pair she was graced with.  She squinted.  She decided she saw better with her glasses on, regardless of the fact that she was nearsighted.  Satisfied without being entirely pleased, she finally swung her door open, and waited for me to do the same.

            She smiled at me, "We're early.  Do you feel like going into the park before you meet up with him?"  She started wandering towards the direction of a cluster of maples and pines.

            "Yeah."  I hurried to join her, as she had slipped off through the trees, without bothering to check behind her.

We began an ascent up a hill when Etsuko suddenly halted in her tracks.  She pointed to the horizon, "Look, Mitsuko."  Her eyes were clear, her emotions at the sight seemed to be resolved.  "There it is.  Do you see it?"

Through the murky film of smog was the remaining skyline of the city.  The west end was the portion that had been decimated.  Instead of a natural descent of height, the intact skyscrapers jutted towards a chasm, like a precipice from which one could plummet.  Reverend Fuuten resided closer to the city than Etsuko or I had realized.

Wordlessly, I sank to my knees.  Etsuko gave me no reaction as I bowed my head and did something I hadn't done since I was a child: I prayed.  After a moment, I stood, and we both walked through the park in silence.

The natural world felt like it was still sleeping.  Soft green was eking out against the skeletal frames of the stately trees and imposing shrubbery, but the robust entrance of spring had not begun.

Etsuko located a bench, and asked me to join her.  I was excluding her from my thoughts, and her patience at it had finally begun to wane.  Predictable in her curiosity, she said, "May I ask you something?"

I nodded.

"I was wondering-well, I'd wondered for a while now, when did you first fall in love with Jiro?  I mean, when did you know it was him?"  Intent on getting an answer, she cupped her chin with her hand, and looked at me wistfully.

She managed to make me smile.  "Oh, that…Well, I think I was in denial about it for a long time.  But something happened once when we were chasing Jiro, and I thought about him differently ever since."

Etsuko's pinky had inadvertently slipped into her mouth.  She had begun chewing on her nail without noticing.

"It was the first time I heard him play his guitar-"

"It was because of the way he played!" sighed Etsuko.

"That, too.  But I had followed the sound until I found him, and something happened when he finally noticed me standing there.

"He slipped up.  He just missed the notes, and the guitar sounded awful.  I mean, a robot wouldn't do that.  A machine that sophisticated wouldn't make a mistake just because of an insignificant external influence."  My words were coming faster, relieved I could recount the past with someone.

"I began to wonder why he did that.  He was staring at me, looking so vulnerable.  It made me feel important in a way, powerful.  No one else had ever noticed me, so why should _he_?"  I shrugged, "Boys never asked me out, and my father barely spoke to me.  My mother left just before I began puberty. 

"I wondered why he cared so much."

"You _know_ why."  Etsuko narrowed her eyes.

"I do now."

"That's kind of funny," Etsuko remarked wryly, "Hanpei did something like that once.  It was the _one_ time I wore dress in front of him, and he stared at me while we were walking through town instead of watching where he was going.  He wound up slamming into pole."

            Having left Etsuko at the park, I approached a modest house on the end of the street.  It was low, as if it were crouching before me.  The roof was thatched, and every facet of it held the same weathered brown coloring, from the door to the walls.

            I knocked upon the door, and smoothed my skirt and my hair, unsure of what he expected of me, and I assumed vice versa.  As I checked my pea coat for spots, the door opened partially.  From the other side of the threshold, an eye crinkled with pleasure.  The door pushed away, and the old man came into full view.

            "Miss Komyouji," he beamed, as though we were long-standing acquaintances.  "Please, come in."

            The décor of Reverend Fuuten's home was of the same cool wood, with tender green curled around the edges.  In his kitchen, I counted three mahogany statues.  It felt serene, balanced, and altogether inviting, the latter quality my own home sorely lacked.  I forgot all about the activities I was engaged in before I arrived.  I became only aware of a sensation of belonging exuding from the very grain of the wood.

            I was so taken, it was a full minute later that I noticed that I had excluded giving Reverend Fuuten the same scrutiny I had to the buttresses.  From his dark garments, capable, full arms hid themselves and reappeared as he puttered; like a trick of a magician.  His skin was an even, dark tone. 

With spry motions, he pulled out a chair for me to sit in.  Before I complied with his request, I bowed in deferment.  Lithely, he returned my gesture.

"I know what you're thinking," he confided as he sat across from me in a rectangular table, looking amused.  "I'm your father's elder by ten years."  He cocked his brow at me, "Want to know my secret to staying young?"

I nodded.

"_Antioxidants._"  He seemed enormously pleased with himself.  "I consume two cups of green tea a day, without fail.  That's my medicine."

He was right about what I'd been pondering.

His joviality began to diminish as he leaned closer towards me.  "Miss Komyouji.  You and I share a secret or two.  I think that gives us special allowances when we talk to one another.  May I be blunt with you?"

"Please do," I urged.

"I have not called you here for altruistic reasons.  I was thinking of myself, and how I could best decipher the evidence I've gathered.  You are the only one who can assist me with that."

A little overwhelmed, I began, "Reverend, I'm very flattered by your opinion of my capabilities, but my father was who you tutored.  He's the expert in robotics, he built Jiro, not me.  Why have you excluded him?"

"Miss Komyouji," Reverend Fuuten folded his hands on top of the table, "are you in college?"

"I'm on a sabbatical."

He nodded, "Do you have a major?"

"Yes," I replied patiently.  "Biology."

"And a minor?"

"World Literature."

"You see," he opened his palms, as though I had provided ample reasoning for him to invite me.  "You and I are rather alike.  My major was Philosophy, and later I became a monk.  But we can't hide our true nature. We study aspects of life itself, for inklings into its meaning and purpose, but it's these machines we devote so much of ourselves to.  And we know them for what they actually are.

"Your father was proud, rash…Please forgive me for speaking about him this way to you… I was disturbed with his involvement with Professor Gill, who seemed to aide his perpetual obsession with completing a perfect-and very human-android…He had fallen out of my good graces.  The details of our breech in friendship make us both seem petty and stubborn, two fairly accurate descriptions of us on any given day."  He laughed bitterly, "You'll understand if I don't feel like delving into the circumstances of it."  A closed laptop computer sat next to him on the table.  He slid it between us.  "The last time I received written contact from you father was twenty years ago, in the form of a birth announcement."

 "Mine."

"Yes, yours.  Then, about five years ago, I received a phone call from him, which was entirely unexpected.  I can still remember how distressed he sounded.  He said, 'I know you never approved of my ambitions, but I'm in trouble now, Sensei.  If I gave you two of my creations to hide, would you look after them?'  That's exactly what he told me.  And, of course, I agreed.  A month later, a pair of crates from a sporting goods store were delivered to my door.  Inside them were Ichiro and Rei.  There was no correspondence attached, but some computer disks outlining their components.  I haven't heard from him since."

"What did you say their names were?"  I seared at the mention of a familiar name.  "_Ichiro_…?  Did he think he could just replace…?"

"Ichiro, I believe, was constructed as a memorial of your late brother, not as an attempt to replace him."

"I have another brother, too, Reverend.  His name is Masaru."  My fury of self-righteousness dissipated under The Reverend's sagacious concern.  "He's almost ten."

"I know.  Jiro told me as much."   He could see the barrage of eager questions lighting up my face, and he cut me off as I opened my mouth.  "He was the one who found me.  Ichiro, when he became activated, operated like a beacon for Jiro.

"I was concerned, as Ichiro was programmed to awake when your father was in danger.  I mentioned this to Jiro, and while he did seem very upset, he refused to explain what happened.  He was very protective of your family's honor, even with me."  His face hardened, "What _did_ happen, Mitsuko?"

Put on the spot, I flummoxed for an answer that didn't seem absurd, "My father-he-his _mind_-was taken from his body."  I could make out my reflection in Reverend Fuuten's tabletop.  "His brain was stored in another android, I don't know how it's possible."

The Reverend closed his eyes. "I've known about Dark's capabilities to safeguard human organs for years.  I am sorry, Miss Komyouji."  His adam's apple bobbled in his throat.  He took a deep breath, and his eyes slowly opened again.   "I've kept an ear to the ground and my possessions on my back for so long, settling here seems like an alien practice."  As if to reassure me, he added, "But at least I now I can stop running, it's over.

"I did inspect Jiro, once, several months ago.  I had a CAD file your father sent to me of his possible design, so I knew what to expect.  However, I did note something unusual about his left arm."  I raised my head.  "From the scuffs on it, it looked like it had been repaired.  But the design was improved!" Fuuten marveled.  "He showed greater flexibility, coordination, and the movements of it were much more natural than that of his right."  He arched an eyebrow at me, "Your father was incapacitated, so I assume it was you who repaired that broken limb."

"That's correct," I responded meekly.

"Your father has suffered enough, and if you're honestly begin to think it, you'll agree.  I wanted someone untainted by Gill's corruption to help me.  _I've chosen the right person_."

I wrenched at all of his praise, I was so unaccustomed to it, "All right, Reverend.  I'll do what I can."

"I'll tell you what I know first, then we can tend to my problem."  He left his seat at the table, walked over to a nearby cabinet.  "No doubt you've been searching for Jiro.  I'm afraid there's not much information I can provide you with.  I saw him a few times so he could meet and be aided by his brothers, Ichiro and Rei.  He never tells me where he goes."

My heart sank.  _There _has _to_ _be another way to find him, don't worry_, I firmly reminded myself before I fell into melancholy.

"Whatever else you would like to know, please ask me."

"Yes," I told him quickly, "you knew a little boy named Akira.  Where is he?"

He blinked, not seeming to have anticipated my question, "What is your interest in the boy?"

"My late mother had an affair with Professor Gill…I think he may be my brother."

Lines around his forehead formed in gentle concern.  "Yuri and Alejandro Hashimoto stole him from you.  Those are their real names, but I doubt they've kept them."

I stared at him, incredulous.  "How is it you know this?"

"I was fond of their daughter, Rieko M."  From his untroubled expression, I could tell that he held no indictment towards the daughter.  I expected to begin a crabwise dance with him on the subject, when he continued plainly, "She was a lonely thing, she didn't have friends…Her father's business sent them to many different countries for several months to a year at a time.   They kept to themselves, but she…she was different.  Took to calling me 'Grandfather.'  Always bright and inquisitive. 

"We were both in the city during the period of The Incident, when the it was under siege.  We were at a safe distance the entire time, but after the machine exploded, I had to walk towards it, to survey what had happened.  We uncovered a lot that day." 

I envisioned the footage on the news, and everything that Etsuko had described to me.  Then I tried to think of pulling a child through it, to the epicenter.

"I found charred circuitry after I sifted through some of the rubble."  There was something falsely casual to the way his picked up one of his statues to wipe off dust.  "I know it was Ichiro's and Rei's.  They didn't emerge from the wreckage."  

"Then they're-"

"Gone."

"Oh."  My voice sounded flat to my ears.  Finding no words to comfort him with, I suddenly wished to strike myself for seeming so insensitive.  "Reverend, I'm so sorry."

He looked at me very tenderly.  "They perished to defend millions of people.  Don't you think that is the most honorable way to die?"

"Then you miss them, and you're proud of them."  I further dared to think aloud, "My Jiro didn't face our enemy alone."  Reverend Fuuten's eyes shone with unfallen tears as his smile threatened to consume his face.

He cleared his throat before divulging, "There was more.  I saw the beast.  That creature who used to be Gill.  I know about that procedure that your father became a victim of, because I saw that Gill had done it to himself."

"You're mistaken," I cut in, more quickly than I had intended to.  "If you're saying that Gill died during The Incident, then that's not true.  He died nine months ago.  I saw his headquarters explode with my own eyes.  No human being could have survived that."

"That's right, Miss Komyouji.  No human could have lived through something like that.  But he chose to place his mind in an android shell, and live that way.  Your father's androids are noble, they strive to become living things, and they're designed to long for humanity.  But Gill did the opposite; he eradicated all traces of his humanity.  He was neither man nor machine, but a self-made beast."

"What did you see?"

"His android torso, his head unit cracked open, and traces of brain matter." 

I grimaced as I tasted bile in the back of my throat.  _Why,_ I silently wondered, _is this sense of foreboding stalking me_?

"If you don't believe me," Revered Fuuten frowned harshly, "I have It somewhere, I took what was left of Gill because I didn't trust the government with learning about It.  _Him_.  Do you want to see It for yourself?"  
            "_No_!"  I chocked, horrified.  I had never met Gill, so he has remained something of phantom figure skulking in the dark of my mind.  I wasn't ready to confront whatever he turned out to be.  "Reverend," I insisted, "You should bury what you have found.  He may be a monster, but," I took a breath, "he deserves to be buried.  And I don't think you should hide the truth from anyone."

"The people who have been determined to conceal everything they've found are the authorities.  Why, do you think, the media is calling what happened two weeks ago _The Incident_?"

His point was limpid.  "To minimize the severity of what happened.  It's the ultimate euphemism."

He abruptly tapped his fingertips against his temple. "I'm sorry.  You wanted to know about Akira, didn't you?  This isn't helping."  Wanting to forgo an argument, he shook his head.  "Rieko M. was very taken with him.  When her parents took him to the foster care, she cried all the way back to her house.  Her parents approached me later that evening about how we had found him.  They said wanted to adopt him, so Rieko M. could have a playmate, so I felt it was my responsibility to tell them about Gill.  Out of all of the areas they could have been upset by, they seemed the most concerned with another blood relative, or a member of Gill's organization finding him again to cause him harm.  I told them there was no one else."  Reverend Fuuten stopped looking at me.  "They must not have believed me, because a few days later, Akira and the Hashimotos both went missing.  So," He walked over to my chair and motioned me to stand up, "If you want to blame someone for his disappearance, blame me.  Don't stay and help me."  I found him alarmed when I began to smile at him.

"You gave Akira a place where he will be safe and loved.  _Thank you_."  He took my warmth in stride.  "Was is it you need my help with?"

My eyes hungrily tore through the CAD program Reverend Fuuten had running on his laptop.  Wires, circuits, and chips were all flawlessly interacting with one another like the systems of a living organism.

"Tell me what you see," Fuuten challenged.

I was almost too giddy to reply.  "This android doesn't have a Gemini, but do you see this component here?"  I touched the screen, "That's a vital part of The Conscience Circuit.  So is this," I pointed to a separate place of the diagram.  "There's smaller parts of Gemini all over her body.  This person- Mieko, you said?  She has the ability to simulate emotions.  She can't automatically decipher between right and wrong, but she can learn to.  Over time, she'd adapt to external influences, like a human."  My heart was thudding loudly with delight.  "Were Ichiro and Rei designed similarly?"

Reverend rubbed his chin, deep in though, "Actually, they were."  As I scrolled through the blueprints he muttered, "I never inspected Jiro's Conscience Circuit, so I didn't know what to look for."

Though he was leaning over my shoulder, I was just barely aware he had spoken.  "To process stimuli, to have an awareness of environment, that's an integral part of what my father designed.  The androids can designate meaning to what they see."  I finally paused my conversation with the monitor to look at Reverend Fuuten.  "That's what he had the most difficulty with; what to allow them to categorize themselves, and what to dictate as part of their programming.

"I think Gill hated The Gemini, he saw it as a threat, but eventually he must have conceded that it made Jiro a better fighter.  You know, you protect what you've emotionally invested in."  I clicked furiously.

"Yes."

"Gill couldn't give Mieko so much free will, so he may have been selective in what he gave her…Though," I added breathlessly, "I doubt he knew what the end result would be.  I don't think he ever understood my father's androids."

Reverend Fuuten let me peruse the program for a few more minutes, disinclined to pry a source of ample intrigue from my grasp.  "Skip ahead," were his eventual instructions.

Complying, I opened the next file of the disk.  The screen flashed briefly, and I saw a circuit of slipshod design.  My reaction to it was immediate; there was nothing to indicate it was the design of my father's.  Everything my father created had a seamless cohesion, it was almost _elegant.  _Reading blueprints of his, the wires and metal alloys would transform for me into the notes of sheet music. 

If father's androids were musical by default, this circuit was discordant.  Judging by its seeming rushed and jumbled construction, it would work, but it might scramble or interfere with other body processes.  "I'm not familiar with this technology," I confessed to The Reverend.  "It looks like it was made after Jiro was completed.  It's newer, but it's poorly constructed.  What is it, exactly?"

"That's what I need you to help me with.  I found it inside of the Bijinder android, and I can't remove it.  It's been webbed around her most vital functions."  His voice was crisp with tension.

"But her name is 'Mieko,' not 'female android' or 'Bijinder.'  You said so yourself."  
            "She won't respond to that name anymore.  In fact, she's nothing at all like Mieko.  She's displaying personality traits of her deceased sister, Rieko, when she speaks as Mieko.  And sometimes she recounts Reiko's memories through the perspective of Mieko."

"What purpose would someone have to get her to behave like that?"  I could see no gain in causing her confusion.  _If she was a threat to Gill, why didn't he simply shut her down?  _I questioned myself silently.  _Or kill her, for that matter?_

"I don't know…But what worries me the most is her hostility.  She's been unpredictable."  He returned to his seat, deep in thought.

"I think the best way for me to analyze this chip is to see the effect it's had upon her.  Please, take me to her, Reverend."

"I can't allow that in good conscience.  In between her incoherent babbling, she spouts a lot of half-truths." 

I placed my hands on my lap before The Reverend could reach over and cover them soothingly with his own.  I didn't want him to think I was weak.

"She may be mentally incapacitated, but she is still capable of manipulation," he warned me.

"But wouldn't you rather _know_, Reverend Fuuten?  She's the only living person who was there with Jiro during The Incident."  Despite my imploring him, he became reticent, much like my father would have.  Desperate, I realized how brutally honest I would have to be for him to comply.

"Even if she sends me down a thousand empty avenues, it's worth it if I find one element of truth.  And I'd go through a lot more if it meant I could see Jiro again."  I searched his face, wondering if he understood my admission. 

He nodded, a bit deflated.  "She's down the hall, on the second door to the left."

The room which Bijinder occupied was different than the rest of the house.  The door featured a rectangular window so that the casual observer could see the entirety of it.  An oddly fey and charming melody wafted from the entrance.  Pulling the door closed behind me, I found Bijinder sitting on the dusty floor. 

Her appearance startled me so much that I actually jerked back.  Auburn sheeted wires were wound tightly around her head, like a crown of braids.  Her tin lips were dyed bubblegum pink.  The rest of her face was colored clownishly with florid cheeks and aqua semicircles above her eye socket.   I saw that the garish cups on her chest were guns.  There was little else in the way of clothing to depict feminine modesty.  According to Gill's whim, he had modeled her shell as he viewed every woman to be: a disposable thing to be used primarily for sexual purposes. 

She sat on the hardwood floor with her legs curled under her, resembling some deposed Amazonian Princess.  Her two green orbs for eyes did not acknowledge me.  Her arms crossed an "X," as though she was clutching something dear to her.  Humming a tune unfamiliar to me, her body rocked slightly.  She slowly unfolded her arms, and I saw that they were empty.  Still, she lowered herself to gently place an unseen object next to her on the floor.

"Mieko."  She was still gazing at the spot on floor, and appeared not to hear me.  I tried again, "Bijinder."

Her head snapped forward, eyes glowing with hostility.  She stared at me, both frightened and defensive, like a lioness sensing a hunter approaching.  Her mature voice betraying uncertainty, she asked, "Who are you?"

"My name is Mitsuko Komyouji."

"Ah."  The lights in her eyes dimmed.  She sat up straighter, with a casual confidence, as if nothing were out of place in her previous actions.  "Yes, the Komyouji brat."  Her thin metal lips pulled back in amusement.  "So tell me, why am I so honored to be visited by an infamous Komyouji?"  Her frame erect, I saw it in the light: there was a gash high above her where her right hip met her thigh.  About the size of an orange, I could see in enough to note a cluster flashing wires that were exposed.

"Bijinder, what _happened_ to you?"

"Keep your voice down!" she snapped.  "He's been fussy all day long; I just put him down a minute ago."

"Who?"

"Are all human girls this stupid?  How many other children do you see here?  _Akira_."

_Oh_…

She looked back at the imagined child.  Apparently satisfied that he was undisturbed, she resumed facing me.

"Bijinder.  I'm here because I need to find someone.  Tell me where Jiro is."

"So _now_ she breezes in, after we toiled, after our family was torn apart, and she expects me to _help_ her?"  She was ripe with sardonic denunciation.  "What a brazen little thing you are."  Her jade eyes flickered.  She glanced down at her arm and drew it back as though someone had been pulling on it.  Her voice automatically shifted to one which was much younger, I assume it was Rieko's, "I know you're tired.  But we have to keep moving.  Don't worry, we'll be at my grandmother's soon," she soothed sweetly.

Unaffected by this strange alteration, I continued,  "He put that thing in you, didn't he?  Gill."

She regarded me with an air of curiosity.  Both voices within her spoke simultaneously, "_Lord Gill, The Alpha and The Omega_."

That managed to make me break out in goosebumps.  Nevertheless, I ignored it and plowed forward with my queries.  "Does it have a name?"

"_Submission circuit_…in him, we shall be glorified…he'll always remain with us.  And you, would you try to come between him and his will?"  She noted my hesitation in responding and began to laugh in Mieko's voice, "It doesn't matter.  You can't stop him.  If you resist, then you'll be decimated."

"Where is Jiro?"

"Has Daddy not built you another plaything yet?  Why don't you go home and ask him; after all, Jiro's just another machine to you."

"That's not true."

"If you _really_ cared about him, you would have stayed instead of taking off like a thief in the night when he needed you."

_Need_.  Bijinder had said "_need."_  Then it was possible that time had not diminished his affections for me. 

Once, a long time ago, I basked in his love.  I grew strong in it.

"You're making assumptions, when you don't know anything about the circumstances that have kept us apart."

"Do you want me to tell you what I _know_?" she accused hoarsely, "I was there the day that Fuuten came back from searching your place and told him that the house was completely abandoned.  You should have seen the look on his face!" she giggled mockingly.  "He just kept staring at the cover of that book Fuuten gave him.  You should be grateful, Komyouji."  Her laughter had begun to die down.  "Grateful that he was too naïve to realize who you really are."

"What is that supposed to mean?"  I knew she was baiting me, and I spoke slowly to control my temper.

"The little brat went off with Daddy to a better life, and forgot all her troubles.  She left a toy behind, and now she's back to pick it up."

"You have no idea what I had to sacrifice.  I left everything I had ever known to visit a strange land and put all my dreams aside so my father could get better."

"What about Jiro?  _Jiro sacrificed everything_.   You still have your family, what does he have left?"

"Me," I sighed.  "He has me, if he still wants me."

"Are you under some illusion that you could fall in love with an android, Komyouji?  Or do you miss him because you thought of him as some sophisticated vibra-"

"That's enough!"  She'd finally managed to make me lose my composure. 

Delighted, she pulled her gaudy lips back in a terrible, gleaming smile.  She knew she had found a way to take control over me.  "You had your chance.  Let me keep him for myself.  You have no right to come back and claim him, because there's no way you could possibly understand what he's been through.  I was there for him while you were gone."

"That's really what you think, then."

She looked over my shoulder, livid, "If I'm a spy, then you're a _mongrel_!"  Instinctively, I turned my head around.  Nothing was behind me, she'd been yelling at a wall.

"Jiro and Akira are mine.  I'm keeping what family I have left without your interference.  Get it through your thick head, I'm not going to do a damned thing for you."

Instead of reacting in anger, I slowly drew nearer to her.  "Do whatever you want.  But you're bitter and afraid, I can see it.  I'll find him without you."  I was standing over her by this point.  "People should be able to recall the reasons they're alive.  He does that for me.  You're a part of Jiro's life, so that makes us connected.  I hope you find some peace."  I turned to leave.  "Goodbye, Bijinder."  I felt a firm metal grasp on my wrist, detaining me.

"Mitsuko!"  There was a note of urgency to way she called me.  I made no motion to free myself, but decided to listen to this new facet of her personality.  "Do you know who I am?"

"You're Mieko, aren't you? "

"Do you think I take pleasure in causing other people grief?  I hate this," she moaned.  Perhaps she was incapable of crying at her stage of development.  "There's always voices, no matter what I do.  I've locked Rieko out of my innermost thoughts."  She looked off, oddly bewildered.  "She's banging her fists on the walls I've put up between us.  It's so …just so _loud_!"

"Don't listen to it!  Mieko, I need you to stay focused.  Just keep looking here at me, and you'll be all right.  Understand?"

This seemed to placate her.  "You and I are different," she mused as she gazed at me.  "I was created for a singular purpose, to follow orders by protecting Akira.  And I couldn't even do that.  I couldn't keep him with me…Mitsuko?"

"What?"  Seeing her like this was painful enough, and I didn't want to know what she was going to tell me.

"I know he's not really here.  Someone took him from me.  He's just a figment of my mind because I'm malfunctioning, isn't he?"

"Do you see him now?"

She shook her head, "Not now, but I will."

"Mieko…" I knelt on grimy floorboards next to her, sullying my legs and skirt.

"An android who can't function properly and who does not fulfill her orders is worthless."  She loosened her grip on me.  "If you have any sense of compassion, you'll tell Fuuten to destroy me."

"I'm not going to give up on you.  You will not be abandoned."

She yanked her hand away, some of her initial disgust towards me returning.  "You're a fool!" she hissed.

"Mieko," I wondered aloud, "I know I can't replace the family you've lost, but you could have another family."

I was so close to her I could hear the soft whirring of gears.  Her artificial respiration system sucked in an enormous breath.  "_Hm-_?" 

"I could let you be a part of my family, if you wanted it- but it's up to you.  I'm giving you a _choice_."

Her warm jade eyes flickered like a swarm of fireflies.  She wasn't looking at me anymore.  "A family…_Akira_."

"Mieko?  Mieko, stay with me."  I took her by the shoulders and forced her to face me.  I was too late.  She was smiling tenderly at some unseen person; she no longer noticed me.

"Akira, it's all right.  Don't feel sad."  She was nearly purring the words as she opened her arms.  "I'm going to tell you a story…Yes, the story of _Pinocchio_."

_Not now, not now_!  I mentally screamed.  _Not after you came back_.

I felt my hands clutching her shoulders with a strength that surprised me.  "Mieko, _where is Jiro_?!"

Bemused, she cocked her head at me.  Addressing me as though I were a small child, she replied, "Silly, _they lived happily ever after._"

I could hear her cooing to the Akira apparition as I walked out.  I don't recall what she was saying to him.  I think I was too overwhelmed with emotion.

"Hey, Komyouji."

I paused by the mantle, not turning around.

"There's something for you on the bookshelf.  Akira said it would be all right if you had it back."

To my left, there was indeed a small bookshelf.  The sole book it housed was my own, a foreign printed version of _Pinocchio_.

            Reverend Fuuten was waiting for me in the kitchen.  Apparently a not man who enjoys small talk, he delved into the matter at hand, "Did that help you reach some diagnosis?  Do you have any idea now why Bijinder has been malfunctioning?"

            "Bijinder is not malfunctioning."

            Reverend Fuuten nodded.  If he was surprised, he didn't show it.

            Mechanically, I began to explain, "The submission circuit allowed her to follow all orders-regardless of matters of conscience.  In her last act of will, she activated programming she shared with her sister, so that she would be able to carry out her primary objective: taking care of Akira.  She did it even though she knew she would have to lose her sanity in the process.  Bijinder has exceeded the expectations of her body."  I may have seemed unruffled to him, but inside, I felt restless.  I leaned against the wall rather than joining him at the table.  "I can't imagine anyone giving up so much of one's self for another person."

            "Well.  What do you think we should do?"

            "Akira is the best chance for her recovery.  But…"

            "That's impossible right now."

            There was one question that was plaguing me.  It overrode all other thoughts in my mind, so I queried, "There's something that I still don't understand.  If Dark disbanded nine months ago, then how was it possible for Professor Gill to acquire so much power and resources in such a short amount of time?"

            "Dark was a legal entity, known as The Dark Demolition Corporation.  I doubt you would have heard of them, I think your father worked as an independent contractor through them, so that there would be no ties to the organization.  The corporation of robotic parts was the façade for what those in charge wanted to accomplish.  In truth, they traded hostile android technology to developing nations in return for arms, that is, mass weaponry.  When Dark was defeated, the corporation liquidated their assets so that the covert entity known as Shadow could thrive.  Dark and Shadow are really one and the same.

            "With their profits, they built their ultimate weapon.  And they called it The Armageddon God."

            _The God_…_Alpha and Omega_…_for whom all knees_ _should bend_.  It harkened back to Brogeen's prayer book.  I had leafed through it one afternoon while Father had a physical therapy session.  _Why did Professor Gill choose Christian Iconography to illustrate himself as God_?__

I swore, and slammed my fist against the wall.  That managed to startle Reverend Fuuten.  "Then Bijinder was right.  It's my fault that the city was destroyed."

"Miss Komyouji-"

"You have to understand, Reverend, I was going to go to the authorities.  I was going to tell them everything-why didn't I?"

"Stop,-"  He was rising from his place at the table.

"She called me a thief, Reverend.  And she's right.  I stole a life of happiness with my father.  Because of that, thousands of people died."

"It's okay…"

"It's _not_!  Children without parents…Lovers who will never see each other again!"

"_Mitsuko_!"  I felt his weathered, calloused hands against my face.  "The moment of destruction two weeks ago was the vision of one man, and just one man.  He's dead.  He killed his body first, then his spirit left the shell he made for himself.  You had nothing to do with it."

I suddenly, very much, wanted to hear him say that I could call him "Grandfather."

"Jiro's Gemini kept his actions in check.  But unfostered, his development could have gone awry, like any human heart that needs nurturing.  Your father was away when Jiro was activated, is that correct?  Then it was you who brought him up.

"It was compassion that stopped Gill.  Love was the hand that held that monster back from destroying our city.  Don't you understand, child?  It happened because of you.  You didn't cause harm to the city; you _saved_ it."

I pulled away stiffly.  "You should fix Bijinder's leg.  It's barbaric to keep it like that."

"Her leg isn't what's wrong with her, and you know it."

"Reverend, I saw her for a moment.  _Mieko_.  She's still in there.  You must let me see her as often as I can."

Reverend Fuuten folded his arms.  "I'm afraid I can't allow it.  You're too emotionally involved in what's been going on; it was a mistake to let you see her."

"_Please_, Reverend.  I have to believe that she can come back to us.  She's like Jiro…"  My voice caught, and I was unable to continue.  My vision blurred, and I sank my teeth into my lower lip to try and delay what was coming.  Despite my efforts, tears began to spill out of my eyes.

Reverend Fuuten's hands clasped mine, and I felt him lead me to the table.  He held my hand while I wept in his kitchen.

"You've been swallowing your grief for some time," he murmured, concerned.

_How does he _know?  I thought silently.

After a cup of his tea, he sent me home with my book and several disks that contained uploaded files of Mieko's memory.  He mentioned I might find more about Rei and Ichiro in them.  I found Etsuko in the park, and for once, she thought it best not to immediately interrogate me.

On the car ride back, I contemplated what Reverend Fuuten had told me.  For a time, I didn't struggle anymore.  I felt serene.


	5. Entry 5

Memory begets memory.  In a stream of consciousness, free association links parts of my life which seem to have little or no connection. 

Standing in center of the blasted room, surrounded by the charred remains of his brothers, his eyes were embers after a massive conflagration.  It went beyond my understanding.

_He_ was beyond my understanding.    I had choked at the rare spread of good fortune, and now there was no way trace a way back to the night he had said his life had merit because of me-that he had fallen in love-so I could confess what I fostered for him.  Instead, with resolve, I leaned in and kissed him.

There was the sensation of the cold, rounded ridges of his lips.  _That_ I recall perfectly.  However, it the sweet taste of copper that remained in my mouth for days afterwards puzzled me.  Much later, upon recollection of it while I was overseas, one of my earliest childhood memories was unearthed.

I was three, maybe four years old.  Crawling on my hands and knees, I had decided to inspect the dining room carpet.  The puffs of autumn red in the design of the fabric made me think of the heads of dragons.  I found the fringe at the end of the upolstery.  Lifting a corner to flap it, I imagine them as golden tassels someone has rewarded the creatures with for good deeds.

Just past the carpet, laid a coin that had been carelessly dropped.  I heard the steady _clip-clops_ behind me, and I knew that my mother was entering the room.  Before she saw me, I reached for it and placed in my mouth.  A funny, sweet taste greeted me.  I relished the new sensation.

I looked up in time to see my mother leaning against the doorway.  "What are you doing there on the floor?"  Her tone was innocuous.

I shook my head and scrambled to my feet.  I was unsure if the new plaything which was propped against the side of my tongue would allow me the capabilities of speech.  I made an attempt at it, "Nuthin'."  It was a reasonable facsimile of my normal voice.

"I haven't vacuumed in here yet.  Come here so Mommy can clean up this room."

I took to absently rolling the coin around my mouth with my tongue.  I must have looked odd, because she frowned and leaned closer to me.  "What do you have there in your mouth?"

Her expression amused me.  I hadn't seen her look like that before.  I pulled away and begin to giggle, imagining it to be some new game.

"_Mitsuko_."  Her voice lowered, which struck me as sillier still.

I rolled the coin to the front of my mouth, clacking it against my top incisors for entertainment.

"Spit it out!"  The commandeering bark jolted me a little, and I drew away from her uncertainly.

She demanded the same of me I think two more times.  I was close to a wall, and thought that if I ran, she would catch me.  Growing frightened, I shook my head.  I saw her grasp my lower leg.  The room swirled at a dizzying speed, and I found the dragons directly above me.  She was propping me on my head, holding me upside down.  Then, a rough smack collided with my backside.  At the shock of impact, I yelped, more in surprise than in pain.  The coin slipped from my mouth, and clattered onto the hardwood floor.

I wriggled out of her hold, and clambered away from her.  From a safe distance, I could look up at her face, and I espied pinkish red around the rims of her eyes.

"Don't you _ever_ do that _again_!"

I wondered just what I had done that elicited so much fear and sadness from her.  Stronger than my self-preservation for escaping punishment, was the feeling of genuine bewilderment.  I decided I would try to never make her that upset again.

Years later, I would revisit the taste of copper.  And coupled with the bliss of contact, I'd feel a strange sense of rebellion in my actions.

Not every memory I harbor of him is unhappy.

 I was involved in myself; I was terribly absorbed in the hurt around me.  What drew my away from my misery was a spark- a glimmer of interest I found in Jiro's eyes.  There is a joy to new discoveries.  I had forgotten what it was like to experience the world as if it were a brand-new creation.  He had the innocence of a child, it was familiar to me through Masaru, but he carried with him the maturity of an adult.  It was undeniably attractive to me.

I didn't appreciate the brevity of the time we would spend together, but while I was with him, I wanted to show him everything.

One memory I call upon more than others is that of Jiro's backlit form amidst the snow.  After he had agreed to return to our home, the gray of late fall began to settle in around us.  The trees deposited their colors from their fiery tones into dull brown.  The sky and grass were next to follow.  The frigid stream of air was inescapable.  Jiro noted all of it. 

Then, one evening in early December, I heard Masaru calling from upstairs.  I put my book I had been reading down, and looked towards the windows.  The backyard lights confirmed the overcast sky had erupted; large flakes were steadily falling.  He scrambled down the stairs and raced out the back door, jacket unbuttoned.  I yelled after him to cover up, but he couldn't hear me over his own whoops of delight.  I likewise pulled on my coat in haste, and went to locate Jiro.

He was in the study, sorting through old music recordings my father had collected.  I grabbed his gloved hand, and pulled him to his feet.  "Come with me," I entreated.

Encouraged by the infrequent moment of physical contact, he didn't protest.

My pace was brusque, and I was nearly dragging him by the time we slipped out the back door.  The snowflakes were large, and feather-like, as if the land was being showered by the aftermath of a pillow fight.  At the rate they were descending, I knew it would only last a couple of hours.

Masaru was spinning several yards ahead of us.  He galloped to one of his favorite places on our property, an incline where he could survey a broad patch of land, leaving Jiro and me alone.

He stood puzzled as the flakes alighted upon his face before disintegrating into water droplets and careening down his cheek.  His body was cold, and the snow retained its form for longer than expected before shriveling to water droplets on him.  "This is snow?"

So he knew the word for "snow."  I had noticed that most naturally occurring elements he had some pre-conceived notion of, while human precepts like story-telling or government hierarchies had to be explained to him.

"It's not harmful; it's just another form of precipitation, like rain."  I walked ahead, and held out my arms, bare palms upturned.

_Turn this into an ecology lesson, why don't you_?  __

After a few minutes, my hands felt numb to everything but raw soreness.  I was certain my cheeks and nose had turned ruddy from the cold.  I felt mucus leaking from my nose, and sniffled loudly.  I kept looking ahead as I encouraged, "Isn't it beautiful?"

I looked back for a reply.  His head upturned, a rare smile stretched across his skin.  Watching him, I remembered the same sense of reverent wonder seeing snowfall when I was small.

Still smiling, he lowered his head to gaze at me.  _Into me_.  "Yes," he finally responded, "beautiful."

I looked away as quickly as I could.   To slacken my raging heart rate, I filled my mind with the mundane, really anything but his unconditional acceptance.

Now, the clarity of these visions have begun to fade with the passage of time.  Certain details are harder to recall.  Mr. Hattori and I each keep a Polaroid copy of his likeness.  It has become more of a necessity for me than a keepsake.

_Jiro, how could I forget_?

Reverend Fuuten called and asked to speak with my father three days ago.  They conversed while I washed dishes in the kitchen.  From where I was standing, I gained privy to the sum of what Father had to say.  I believe their topic of conversation ranged from the weather to ailments acquired in old age.  They spoke for about an hour, and they did not once mention androids.  The relaxed tone in my father's banter came unexpectedly to me; though I suppose I recall overhearing more good-humored instances with him when I was little.

Halfway through their conversation, I grew pensive as I plunged my already-pruned hands into the grimy dishwater. 

_Decades later-and they pick up their friendship-just like that_, I mused.  At least something around me had been restored.

Reverend Fuuten may have remarked on my outburst at his home, because I've noticed how gingerly everyone has dealt with me lately.  Etsuko, Mr. Hattori, and my family have been strangely conciliatory.  And everyone-everyone is full of advice.

Yesterday, Father asked to speak with me as I perused the morning paper.  The cane stomped as he shuffled over to the table.

"Do you think it's odd that we've never done this-sat down and had an open discussion?"

Confounded, I stared at the headlines.

"This is what parents and children _do_, Mitsuko," he insisted.  "They talk about the problems they are facing."

_I wouldn't know_, I thought silently, but I didn't dare say it out loud.

"Spring's coming.  You've always loved spring."

"That's true."

He pressed on with his intent, "What have you been feeling?"

Despite his efforts, I wasn't compliant.  I just shrugged in reply.

"You know," considered Father after a moment, "I overheard you with Etsuko a couple of weeks ago.  You told her you were searching-for answers to why you've survived.  You said that you want a sense of purpose.

"Well," he reflected calmly, "I can't say I've aided you.  Maybe if I'd paid more attention; given you spiritual guidance, you wouldn't be having these dilemmas now."

"No, Father!" I interjected.  "I have a relationship with you now, that's all I wanted."

"Not because of me," Father smiled.  "You brought that about by yourself."

"It was Jiro who saved you."

"Yes, it was."  He plucked the newspaper from my hands and set it down on the floor.  "But now, I want to tell you something I've kept a secret for too long.

"I'd had limited success with designing a Conscience Circuit during the years I licked Gill's boots.  The more I brainstormed ideas to help me break free of him, the more I began to distance myself from you and Masaru. 

"There was," he confessed, "a time I thought I couldn't find a key to this perfect resistance to evil.  The way to simulate the human experience alluded me.  I was close to quitting on the dream.   I felt weak.  And worse, I was sure I'd killed off the best part of my children.

"After years of shutting you up in this old house without proper care, I thought I'd find no life in here."  Here he broke off and shook his head at my stock-still face.  "You're looking at me oddly.  Well, I don't mean that you were under lock and key or trapped in the basement.  But I did confine you, and you, of course, held it against me. 

"And then-do you remember this?  You ran up to me one evening.  You said you'd decided to study Biology, that you wanted to become a scientist.  When I heard it, it was like clarity had come all at once.  _That_ was what these androids needed-_life_!

"So I modeled Jiro's Gemini after the genetic code.  His blueprint was the blueprint of all life."

We spent a moment in comfortable silence, the past few months having granted us access to nonverbal cues of communication.  He split the newspaper, extracting the technology section and passing me the rest.

"Whatever it is that you feel you need to find, I have faith that you'll come to it. You've always had that kind of strength."

We stalled our respective agendas for the day for the sake of enjoying each other's company.  Our breakfast prolonged to the mid-morning, as our conversation met the satisfaction of dwindling to nothingness.  

            That afternoon, I hesitated with the material Reverend Fuuten gave to me. 

            _Even after all this digging_, _there doesn't seem to be a bottom to this trove of secrets_, I silently ruminated. 

            I picked up the disk of Mieko and Rieko's memories.

            _And you, you were kept as secrets, too, weren't you_?

            I laughed mirthlessly.  _No need to shut Pandora's Box now; I should know everything._  I placed the disk in the computer.

            The first image I saw was a boy.  He appeared to be in his late teens; eighteen or nineteen, perhaps.  Old enough to evade the inquiries of adults, but still young enough to not be taken seriously by authority figures.  It was a good age if one wanted to be ignored.  His dark hair was forced into a windswept cowl in front of his face.  This one loved the sound of his own voice.

            "Which one are you?" I asked the screen out loud. 

As if in reply, I saw him respond when someone said, "Ichiro."  I drew my knees toward my chin in my chair and watched, enthralled.

Ichiro seemed to suffer an imbalance in his emotional programming.  His emotions were his prime motivator for his actions; he held no forethought to their consequences.  While it seemed he could easily express how he felt, remorse, and its ability to improve upon past errors, would have taken much longer to develop.  His vocabulary was an impressive mix of erudite learning and street slang.  His aptitude for language rivaled, or perhaps even surpassed, that of Jiro's.  He was witty, to the point that I caught myself laughing at some of his retorts.

One remark he made to someone off frame stuck with me, he said he was glad he didn't have a Gemini like Jiro did to make him hesitate.

_That's right_, I concurred silently.  _You don't.  And those emotions you deal with_, _less frequently than Jiro's, are not related _at all_ with having a Gemini._  The acoustics of the study where I had this encounter of sorts amplified my laughter.

Jiro must have loved him…

Rei was next for my scrutiny.  His hair was shorter than that of either Ichiro's or Jiro's, and his skin was of pale olive.  His gait indicated a dispassionate confidence that comes through the acquisition of knowledge.  He was still, and his eyes held back a momentous force, like a dam walling a fulminant river.  His cool, unperturbed affectations seemed to reflect not only his combative skills, but his personal beliefs, as well.

Ichiro seemed fun, but Rei-he intimidated me.

            It was late by the time I emerged from the study.   I realized I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and I wandered to the kitchen.  As I entered, I saw an onyx, starless sky from the window.  Etsuko was giggling into the phone, twirling the extension cord around her finger.  She placed her hand over the mouthpiece when she noticed me.

            "Where's Masaru?" I asked.

            "He got in about a half an hour ago.  I sent him straight to bed."  She rested the receiver on her shoulder.  It's Hanpei.  He's on his way back from questioning some people in the city.  He wants to know if you'll join him tomorrow."

            I disclosed the obvious with a smile, "I hardly have plans."

            "Then we'll all three of us go."  She started to resume her conversation, then thought better of it, and strained the cord to open the refrigerator.  She selected a pear, and pressed it into my palm.

I climbed the brittle staircase and approached Masaru's room.  I rapped my knuckles lightly against the door, in case he had fallen asleep.

"Come!" he called cheerfully.

I entered.  Masaru was in bed, but he was quite awake.  His bedside lamp was on, and there were a few action figurines and books splayed across his quilt.  He had matured past the baby blue shades that used to decorate his walls.  Now, the room was dominated by burgundy and navy stripes.  With the exception of the clutter over his bed, the room was relatively clean.

"I haven't seen you very much lately."  I sat by the foot of his bed while I tore into the flesh of the pear.

"Yoko and her father are building a tree fort," he murmured.  "Are you upset?"

"The house has been quieter, but it makes me happy when I know you're making friends.  That doesn't upset me."

"_Friend_," Masaru corrected, "I don't have _friends_."

I groaned.  It seemed too late at night to begin a conversation about his social habits.  "Give it time, Masaru.  You're so impatient."

He caught the edge in my voice, and sat up a little.  "What _have_ you been doing, anyway?"

"That's why I wanted to talk to you."  I reached over and smoothed his crow's black hair.  "I've…discovered _things_."

"Yeah."

Almost casually, I said, "Mother might have had another child."

His brow furrowed, considering.  "A boy or a girl?"

"A boy, I think.  He'd be almost four."

"Where is he?"

"I'm not sure.  He was taken away."

 He began chewing on his lower lip, a habit he had formed when he became distressed.  "Do you know his name?"

"It's Akira.  It will be easier to find him once things settle down," I reassured him.  "The city's still in a state of emergency."

"Uh-huh."  He tapped my arm.  Veering to another subject entirely, he queried, "Mitsuko?  May I paint on Jiro's guitar?"

"You can ask him when he comes back."  If you know anything about physics or the way sound waves carry, you know that a crack in a specific area of a guitar will render it useless.  The guitar had been smashed by a sophisticated android named Saburo, a Hakaider type, the night my mother perished.  Weeping, Masaru had broken free of my grasp, and had run towards the billowing smoke, snatching up fragments of the guitar as he went.  I had already discovered what I needed: a small black fleck surrounded by wood shards:  the final component of Gemini.

Masaru had gathered as many pieces as he could find; however, there were still splinters and slivers that he couldn't detect in the feeble glow of the flames.  Quite unknown to me, he reconstructed the instrument using two bottles of Superglue.  The form of the reconstructed piece is sturdy; however, there are cracks, and even entire chunks of wood missing.  It will not play properly.  Instead of viewing this limitation as discouraging, we know it as a tribute to Jiro, and a testament of Masaru's efforts and devotion.  A guitar, after all, can always be replaced.

"What were you going to paint?" I inquired.

"Mostly clouds.  The sky."

"Jiro had other siblings, as well.  They were very good, but they didn't have a conscience circuit."

Masaru looked aglow at the revelation.

"They died in the explosion of that big machine-The Armageddon God.  But one them, a female, is still alive."

Masaru bolted up into a sitting position, "Take me to her.  I want to meet her."

"Masaru," I sighed, "You can't-not yet."

_"Then when_?" he demanded.

_When_…?

"When she remembers herself."

His breathing came so fast, he was snorting.  He narrowed his eyes.  He was clever enough to know when there was more to a story.

"Sweetheart, Professor Gill put a circuit in her that made her very confused.  She goes into rages, and then feels guilty about it."

"Then fix her!"

"Masaru,"-

"Take it out of her!"

"I _can't_!" I snapped defensively.  The snorts of indignation continued.  I counted five seconds silently before I let myself explain to him, "If I were to remove or tamper with a circuit that controls emotion, it would be very likely that all of her memories would erase.  It's like a 'reset' button.  That's why Father's program said destruction was the only option for a faulty Gemini.  The person, as we know him or her, would cease to exist.

I resumed smoothing his hair.  It seemed to calm him.  "The android woman, Meiko, or Bijinder, _loved_ Akira.  She doesn't want to lose her memories of him.  Jiro didn't want his Gemini fixed for the same reason.  She'll have to come back on her own."

"Gill," Masaru growled with malice.  He'd found another target for his frustration.  "He's…"  He mentally perused for a suitable noun.  "He's _vermin_.  Slop that belongs in the sewer."

I had never heard Masaru sound so vindictive before.  It frightened me.

I withdrew my hand and clapped it over my mouth.  After a moment, I put my hand down long enough to say, "Never speak ill of the dead, Masaru."  My voice wavered.  "I don't care who he is or what he's done-you never talk like that about anyone again!"

I anticipated more opposition.  Instead, he flashed me a timid and shaken look before burying his face in my stomach.  "Sorry," he muffled his regret into my shirt.

I allowed my arms to close around him. "I know what you think about Jiro.  How you felt ignored when we were together.  You told me, and wouldn't listen." 

"Hm."

"I guess you and I were both wrong," I admitted.  "The truth of the matter is that he doesn't have to choose.  His heart is big enough for the both of us."

"Yeah."  He broke his steely grip on me, and fell back towards his pillow.  "Okay, yeah."

I nudged him over, so I would have room to lean back.  "You know, Reverend Fuuten gave me a disk when I visited him.  It has memories on it, and I got to see Jiro's brothers, Ichiro and Rei.  I learned quite a lot about them."

Masaru's eyes widened, "_Tell me_."

So I began a story, like the one Bijinder told her Akira.  In it, there was the Pinocchio toy.  He made new friends, friends that were as siblings, but he was not satisfied.  He was not finished growing, or learning about himself.  As a toy, was he as real as everyone else?  Did he deserve to exist?

The day came when Pinocchio knew he had become much braver and stronger, because he had his friends to help him when he was unsure.  They, all of them, had to face That Which Was Not Real, their greatest fear.  The monster consumed, instead of created.  The city was a sea of doubt, and the monster plowed through the waves like Monstro.  So, That Which Was Not Real came to be named Monstro Armageddon.

The toy and his friends knew what had to be done.  They lured the beast, and allowed themselves to be swallowed by it.  There, in the belly of Monstro Armageddon, they made smoke from explosions, so that the beast strained its skin to the breaking point, and at last blew apart.  Monstro Armageddon's last attempt at survival was to expectorate the toy that had caused it such agony.

The toy was freed, but his friends were not spared.  The toy was very sad, but he knew he carried their good will by defeating the monster.  Without his fear, the toy could live a brand new life.  The whole world was safe now, and the toy had made itself strong and wise.  And…

"And Pinocchio became a real boy," Masaru mumbled, eyes closed, half asleep.

I ceased my narration. 

That was impossible.  Jiro's spirit was just as real as mine, it had grown to be like mine or anyone else's, and a flute or whistle couldn't control him anymore.  But I knew his body would never turn to flesh.

I looked over at my sleeping brother.  I couldn't tell him otherwise; I didn't have the heart to.

I understand how strange all of these circumstances must seem.  If people knew of my pursuits, they would wonder, _why do you chase after something that lasted a few brief months of your life_?  _You can't bring time back.  Why are you so focused on the past_?

I'd like to be the rational person everyone expects me to be.  But I can't let go of the memories of him. 

I know if I choose this, there will be some wants I will have to forgo.  With Jiro, I will never satisfy my desire to have children, save for raising Masaru.

My late brother, Ichiro, taunts me with facts in my dreams.  _What if everything you hope for comes true, Mitsuko? If you find him, what sort of a life can the two of you forge?  Marriage?_

_After everything he's gone through, what do see for him?  A desk job somewhere?  _

"You're not my brother," I coldly tell the charming young man standing before me, "you're just my insecurities."

_Is that so?  Then why am I _here_?  Think about it!_

Dream Ichiro is right; possibilities are the true crux of my problem.  Jonathan, though oblivious and ill-suited for me, is not a villain.  I repulse him not for who he is, but for what he represents to me.  I am actually terrified of becoming lulled into this life, associating with young single males, and _listening _to them.  I am afraid that if I let my guard down, I'll begin to forget, and Jiro will fade away.

I can't let that happen.  And I only have to hold on for a little while longer.  I still seem fine, but I know I am not well, entertaining such thoughts.

If I'm to blame for anything's that's happened, I want to experience the full consequences of it.  

The night Masaru and I had spoken about the androids, I dreamed again of Ichiro.  It was quite unlike the recent strand of others.  In it, I found him standing on a boardwalk, staring at the sea.  He did not notice me until I was standing next to him.  He quoted Shakespeare, "_Time is out of joint_."  Then I woke up.


	6. Entry 6

From the edges of the city, tongues were loosed. From dire circumstances came the need to restore. The citizens affixed this spirit onto one person. Whispers of him became audible. Murmurs were turned into open stories shared by the survivors. Together, these stories webbed the region of the afflicted until each spoken testament, eerily similar to one another, formed a forte chorus of a single word:

_Hero._

Over the span of a few days, Mr. Hattori and I pursued a low-tech approach to finding the one I had lost. Much as we had done before, we took to the streets, asking in as many areas as we could if anyone recognized the boy from our Polaroid.

We found many who were willing to talk. They told of a young man dressed in denim who had pulled out those trapped in collapsed buildings and rubble. Moreover, most admitted he showed a strong resemblance to the person in the picture. Some added that he was not likely to be one of the certified emergency crew members, whose presence were ubiquitous in the city the first two weeks following The Incident.

For me, the most maddening consistency arose in the fact that in each account, Jiro vanished before anyone was able to approach him. From the stories themselves, we were unable to ascertain a specific idea of where he was, save for the conviction that he was somewhere in the city.

Mr. Hattori recognized my frustration, and a few days after I had viewed the files of androids Ichiro and Rei, Masaru called me into the living room. "They wanna talk," he declared, hovering over my shoulder as I sorted laundry.

Etsuko and Mr. Hattori were not seated; rather, they were kneeling at opposing ends of the coffee table, a large map spread between them. They seemed so engrossed, they didn't notice Masaru or me enter until I called upon them, "What are you doing?"

Etsuko looked up first, "Oh. Hanpei thought this might help, but I don't know." Puzzling over what was in front of her, she waved her hand over an area that was punctuated with red pen marks, and notes beside them.

"It's a record of all the places Jiro has been spotted, and when. That is, if each story we heard really was Jiro," explained Mr. Hattori.

"With these buildings and streets still showing, how many of them actually remain?" I wondered.

Mr. Hattori picked up a pencil that was lying on the map, and with a sweeping motion, drew a semicircle. "This whole area is gone. After the ends of both these points, it starts to get better." Creases formed in his forehead as he looked upwards towards my face, "Do you see a pattern, Mitsuko?"

Etsuko shook her head in frustration. "There's no pattern at all! Why would there be?"

I joined Etsuko in inspecting the map, while Masaru sat next to Mr. Hattori. The red points I surveyed pulled together a meaning to me.

_Little red stars; a chart to guide the lost_, I mused silently.

"No…there _is _a pattern," I murmured, still unsure.

Masaru fingered the dots by his hand.

"Masaru, go upstairs and get a protractor for me," I instructed. He nodded, and scrambled to his feet. As he darted out the room, I shouted after him, "And _walk_!" The mental image I conjured of him running with a sharp object made me nervous.

Etsuko picked up the pencil and brought the end to her mouth, making unattractive half-moons along the rim with her teeth.

"Are you picking up my bad habits, Etsuko?" Mr. Hattori joshed softly.

She crinkled her nose; an expression of distaste in her present activity.

After Etsuko had thoroughly defaced the pencil, Masaru reemerged from upstairs. There were most likely three sets of eyes focused in my direction, but I took no notice. I looked into the red pinpricks, awaiting the meaning of it to assemble.

For me, they seemed like clusters, rather than arbitrary designations.

_Clusters of constellations_…I almost smiled at the mental analogy.

I took the protractor from Masaru and began using triangulation. I ran through the possibilities quickly. At the end, it seemed my hand was having trouble keeping up with my mind. However, the group saw the result before I was even finished: all of the lines intersected at the same point.

"Does this building still stand?" I pressed Mr. Hattori.

He rubbed along his jawline with his broad palm. "I dunno, Mitsuko. It's possible."

Still, Etsuko's claim was accurate. When Jiro had fled from me, a time which seemed like ages ago, there was no reasoning behind each of his destinations. This location, however, had a calculation behind it. And I didn't know its greater meaning.

_It's like he _wants _to be found_, I thought silently, but that left me with too many questions.

My own voice sounded far away as my head slunk back, "What are you doing, Jiro? There's no one left to save; the rubble covers only bodies now. Why don't you come back to see if we've returned?" I dare say I made the engaged pair nervous with this question. While I shared the pining of any of their other clients who missed someone, the specifics made it impossible for them to supply me with one of their generic responses.

"Maybe he's not well," Masaru supplied.

"Androids can't get sick; you know better than that, Masaru."

He huffed, "That's not what I meant."

I then remembered the glow of Bijinder's eyes, like photic sea creatures. Her wail, baleful with remorse, was easy for me to recount.

_Longing for her Akira_…

Like a banshee, the sound had pierced an emptiness inside me. I shuddered at its recollection.

"Hey." Mr. Hattori broke the silence with an overly jovial grin, "The great Hanpei Hattori got you this far, so why get nervous now? I _always_ finish what I start."

Etsuko rolled her eyes, but she seemed relieved. She offered me a lopsided smile.

"Okay, Mr. Great," she jokingly countered to Mr. Hattori, "so what's our next move?"

"It's obvious." He cocked his head at me, "You feel up to scouting this place?"

I nodded.

"I'm coming." Masaru's directness made it clear that it was not a request.

Etsuko looked hopefully at me for a sign of consent. I suppose she was motivated by sympathy for the times he was left out of our inner workings.

I rested my hand on the top of his head. "Yes," I agreed.

Mr. Hattori believed we would have a better chance of finding Jiro around nightfall. There were a few slim hours between dusk and dawn when these rumored heroics supposedly ended. It was odd; moving about the house that day, I did not feel the elation I had expected. Instead, a calm confidence resided in me. I must have failed to recognize my own intuition once again.

I informed Father of our intentions to look for Jiro in the city. He was brusque, but did not usher me out before he began his exercises. From his window, I watched Masaru pantomiming a swordfight. His motions were swift and deliberate, not a wild brandishing with his arm. I could almost begin to see his opponent.

Finally, I left for my room. Certain I would be undisturbed, I permitted myself to stare long into my mirror. My clothing was appropriate for meeting an old friend. My hair had grown out, it almost grazed my shoulders, but I didn't think I looked any different than a year or so before.

_I look fine_, I told myself. But my confidence had momentarily retreated.

My hand grasped my hairbrush. As I brought it up to my hair, I began laughing in self-derision.

_What are you doing, preening and posing like a schoolgirl_?

Feeling foolish, I threw my brush down. It was insane to worry so much about what he my looks at a time like this.

I remembered that towards the end of Jiro's stay at this house, I would linger by the closet in the morning, deliberately selecting outfits I thought were flattering. I would pretend that it didn't matter, but if Jiro were to make a casual remark that he liked me in red, or I was pretty, I'd feel my face flush.

By the time Mr. Hattori and Etsuko decided they were ready to leave, the light outside was meager. It was growing too cold for Masaru to play, though when I slipped out the backdoor to retrieve him, a rolling, thick fog had enveloped everything that could have been visible. Fortunately, he heard me calling him, and I eventually made out his young figure jogging towards me.

As promised, Mr. Hattori stopped by a fast food chain for Masaru. I never understood the appeal of that sort of food: its seasoning and preparation is minimal, and its nutritional content dubious. Eating in a car seemed even stranger to me, but my three companions seemed to have no problem with shoving fistfuls of fries into their mouths as our vehicle cruised along.

The roadways in the affected area of the city had been cleared, and with Mr. Hattori flashing an armored guard his driver's license, we were able to move through most of it. I'd seen the damage from a distance in full daylight, but I wasn't prepared for the view that spread before me that night. Latching itself to the neon brilliance of the urban scape was a void. Like any black hole, we were drawn to it.

The building we had pinpointed was still standing, but that was the extent of its structural merit. From the stream of visibility the headlights provided, I could see it was surrounded by a chain link fence. The glass from the windows had been blown off, save a jagged edge or two jutting from the frames. It stood an unimpressive four stories. Even in poor light, I knew the sand-shaded façade was crumbling.

Masaru and I leaned toward the front seat. "Do you think he's there now?" I asked the couple.

Mr. Hattori wiped his mouth, "Probably not. It's too early." I could smell the onion rings he had eaten when he faced me, "I wouldn't want you going in there, anyway. That place looks like the wind could knock it over. Let me see if it's safe first, okay?"

"Sure."

As Mr. Hattori eased out of the car, Etsuko unbuckled herself so she could turn around and talk to Masaru and me. "Mitsuko! I don't know when Hanpei and I will be able to get married, but I've still been making plans." She spoke in a low tone, as though Mr. Hattori was still in earshot. "I don't have pressure about making a deadline to decide what I want, so it's been kind of easy for me so far."

Masaru rummaged through his backpack for a flashlight. He wanted to read one of his adventure novels.

"I'm going to be the most well-prepared bride ever!" she grinned to me.

I smiled back, not inclined to converse. My mind was too full at the moment.

Etsuko narrowed her eyes suddenly, not allowing a quiet to settle in the car. "Will you still call Hanpei 'Mr. Hattori'?"

"I'll always call him 'Mr. Hattori.'"

She sighed in defeat. "You'd better not start calling me 'Mrs. Hattori,' that's all I have to say."

"Mrs. Fish Cakes!" erupted Masaru in a sing-song voice; a pun on the name. He ducked as Etsuko playfully tried to swat him.

"Masaru…" I began to reprimand him, but both Etsuko and he were too busy laughing and blocking each other's mock blows to notice.

Mr. Hattori returned to declared the structure suspect. He hadn't scaled the fence, but looking through one of the shattered windows, he saw chunks of floorboard on one of the levels missing.

He answered his cell phone not much later; a middle-aged woman who claimed she had additional information for us. Etsuko and Mr. Hattori cajoled us to join them, but Masaru and I were firm that we both should stay in case we saw him.

Masaru was unusually patient, his book a companion, while my thoughts became more disassembled as my tiredness betrayed me. This was an unimportant and neglected street before The Incident, and the relief workers had done little else besides clear its streets. There may have been some crew members arriving by dawn, but at present, the air hung still, like a mausoleum. By the time Mr. Hattori and Etsuko returned, we were all too weary for discussion.

It was a matter of minutes before they both fell asleep.

_No Columbian brew in a place like this_, I remarked silently to myself, thinking of the source of their vitality.

However, a strange buzz ran through the length of my body, and it was enough to keep my eyes open. I wondered if after such a long course of separation, I'd turn into a stammering fool at the sight of him, or be struck dumb entirely.

As we waited, I imitated a habit of Masaru's and began humming. I'd find him doing this when he was carrying out his chores, his high, boyish lilt carrying into the next room. When his crow's black head sunk against my side, I was sure he had fallen asleep. However, after a minute, I felt his hand poking my side.

"I think we should go into the building, while they're still asleep."

I had misgivings about going against their wishes, but they were not as strong as the urge I felt to explore. "I do, too."

"When does he usually show up here?" Masaru's breath was hot against my ear.

"Mr. Hattori thinks it will at least be another hour." I pulled the door open as quietly as I could, and motioned Masaru to follow me.

There was a chink in the fence just wide enough for us to squeeze through, though it snagged the material of my jacket. Our shoes grated against the rubble as we walked.

As we neared the doorway, a deep voice boomed behind us, "Hey! You two!"

I involuntarily gasped as I turned and found it belonging to an officer of the law. He was standing on the opposite side of the fence. I could make out his uniform when I shone my flashlight in his direction. "Yes, sir?" I responded meekly.

"You two shouldn't be here. This building's condemned; can't you read the sign?"

I began to flummox for a reply, but Masaru bounded over to him, smiling amiably. "Our dog!" he exclaimed. "He ran off towards this section of town, and one of the neighbors here said she saw him go into this building."

"_Really_." The man spoke planarly, so it was hard to decipher if he believed this story or not.

"A collie dog; his name is Gawaine. Have you seen him?"

"Gawaine? How old is he?"

"He's two years old. About this tall." Masaru placed his hand at hip level. To my amazement, he appeared unruffled by all this.

The officer shot his gaze at me. I tried not to look down. "Where's his leash?" he queried with false nonchalance.

"We left it at home," I muttered.

"I guess it's late," mused Masaru as if this had just occurred to him. "We've been tracking him all night." His face fell sheepishly. "Sorry if we worried you for being out here, Officer."

The officer dropped his shoulders and glanced behind him. I got the impression he had somewhere more important to patrol. "I can't be responsible for anything that happens to you guys, so be careful, okay?" He turned and began to retreat to the darkness.

"Oh, we will!" Masaru was all poised sweetness, like a gourmet cake.

I stared after the officer's figure in incredulity. I would have stayed like that for some time if I hadn't felt a tugging of my hand.

Masaru nudged me in the direction of the building. "Come on, Mitsuko. He's not going to follow us." His voice dropped; it was clear the play-acting was over. Stranger still, I saw he had abandoned the silly euphoria he had felt in the car.

He did not unlatch my hand until we had both entered the building. Our flashlights provided a dim scope of visibility; otherwise, I doubt I would have been able to walk through.

It was easy to feel encased. There were chunks of rubble nearly half my size strewn along the doorway. Like a body in its descent into starvation, this structure had shed its muscle. To keep itself alive, fragments would fall, but the framework did not collapse.

Masaru was proceeding as quickly as his sidesteps through the wreck would allow, while I strayed behind. The thick layer of sediment looked like nutmeg. Through it, I saw a patch of plain white. I nudged my foot, and saw that there was more, much more.

_It's paper_, I realized.

I shone my light to the far end of the room. A bulletin board had fallen, and a filing cabinet was overturned. Yet as I panned the light from one corner to the next, I could see that some items were perfectly intact. The computers looked unharmed, and the workstations still had chairs to accompany them. I almost believed a spirit could settle there and resume the work he or she had started.

So it was formerly an office building. I grimaced and followed my brother. The stench was of mold, and I hoped in the next room to escape it.

We didn't call out his name as we walked. On the second floor, I paused to read a graffitized wall which said:

_The leaving in my hands_

"Masaru," I called.

_There's more_, I reassured myself. As predicted, I found another phrase by it:

_Caught the thick oil for _

_ What_? I puzzled. There was no pause in locating the rest.

_ The flames of conflagration._

_ I let it drain through_

_ And the touch of her tenderness,_

_ the happy memory,_

_ Dwindled as a translucent dream._

"He was here," I said quietly. I could have been declaring it to an empty room, but I finally turned and saw Masaru standing next to me.

I can't entirely recall what happened next. I do remember a sudden, sharp pain exploding against the back of my head. I was aware of nothing else until a thin gauze of consciousness stole over me. From my depths, I was dimly aware that I was lying on the floor, the rubble elevating me slightly.

It was nebulous, and it didn't even occur to me to open my eyes…

I felt the sensation of being lifted. There was a presence; it was drawing me closer, making me awash in its strength and tenderness.

Basking in this motionless state, I tried to remember when I had felt this secure.

_Had I been this content with my mother when I was little_?

There was a simple joy to being around her, but she always looked behind her, even when I was small. She was biding time to leave me.

Maybe once, when I was alone, near my father's cabin. I had wanted to believe there was something greater than myself, because then my isolation would be an illusion. In a field with the view of the rolling gray mountains, I thought the spirits could carry my misery far away from anything I touched.

I had the sudden urge to confess all the things I hadn't mentioned to anyone.

There's so much death… 

"What's happened?" His voice was gentle and wonderfully complex, like sonorous bells, or the wind by my house. I couldn't speak, only think my words, yet I heard his voice outside of myself.

He happened. Gill. There's blood everywhere. I don't want to see it anymore. I can't… 

"If you thought there was death, then it was only a dream. You'll wake soon."

_Jiro…_

"Hush now."

I suppose there was a time lapse. Everything darkened, but it was so soothing, I didn't fight it. It was out of my grasp and energy to fight.

After what seemed like a long time, I felt the brushing of a small hand against my face. Curious, I opened my eyes.

Etsuko was kneeling over me. She was visible in the pale gray light of near dawn. My eyes widened, unsure. Slowly bringing myself to, I could see the rims of her eyes were red.

"Hey," she said, voice shaky but smiling bravely, "you really had us worried there."

"What the Hell were you thinking?!" roared a familiar voice. Stretching my gaze, I could see Mr. Hattori standing at the other end of the tattered room.

I suddenly realized someone was missing. "Masaru!" I cried in alarm.

Etsuko put her hands on my shoulders, as if to detain me from getting up. "He's fine. We're letting him sleep in the car."

"Do you have a death wish? Is that why you're acting like an imbecile?!" demanded Mr. Hattori.

"Hanpei," Etsuko pleaded softly.

"I told her to stay put," he overrided. He turned away, and I could hear a torrent of muffled obscenities.

"You worried him, you know?" Etsuko smoothed her hair more than was necessary for a visit with a queen. I knew this habit to be an action she reserved for moments of extreme duress. "That's what happens when pieces of the ceiling start to fall on your head."

"Oh…Is _that_ what happened?"

She rested her palm between my forehead and my hairline. "Masaru went to go find us after it started raining tile in here."

"I'm fine now, though. Thanks." I lifted my head, and a slam of fierce ache greeted the back of my cranium. My eyes widened in pain before I winced and fell back. "_Ow_. Ouch! Okay…Maybe I'm not ready to get up yet."

The room seemed to sway before me. Mr. Hattori looked down upon me from across the room. "We should get you to a doctor," he muttered. "Let's see what's around."

"I should stay…He was here. I should stay, for when he comes back."

Mr. Hattori and Etsuko attempted to exchange worried glances before I could detect them, but I noticed.

"He _was_! He was here in this room!"

Etsuko looked helplessly between her betrothed and me. She went behind me, and hooked her hands underneath my arms to help me up. "Come on, Mitsuko," she whispered.

"Why is that so hard to believe?!" I cried. "You _both_ thought it yourselves. I need to stay."

"What if you have a concussion!" Mr. Hattori exploded. "Do you think he wants you to stay like this?"

I fell silent. Clinging to Etsuko, I was too weak to refuse her as a bolster.

"Can you stand?" Mr. Hattori was still short with me, but his voice was softer.

"Yes, I'll be fine." The trek to the building, the enclosing joy, the free-fall, and my present chastisement; it all swirled together in a putrid collage in my mind.

Stay with me, Jiro. Please… 

I was covered in grime. The throbs that pulsed rhythmically were proportionate to my nausea. I must have been grimacing, because Mr. Hattori raised his eyebrows.

"Take your time, hon."

There were still some volunteer physicians that had not departed for their homelands yet. We found a forty-something doctor nearby who cracked jokes as he shone his small flashlight into my pupils, and asked me to follow the beam with my eyes. He didn't believe that I had a concussion, but recommended that I get rest for the day, and be carefully monitored by family.

"We will," Etsuko reassured him. I found this both touching and perplexing. After all, who would _volunteer_ for familial ties with a Komyouji, knowing our shameful connections?

_I guess if Gill's minions didn't ward those two off_, _then nothing will_.

I recall little from the rest of the day, as I slept through most of it. I had trained myself to rest in increments, but after my injury, I fell into dormancy as if it were an oasis. I suppose the heightened emotions I had felt through the last few weeks had finally taken their toll on me.

When I finally pulled myself up from oblivion, my unlit room had the pale washed light of a rainy early evening. I groggily sat up. There was no pain as I moved my head.

_That_'_s right_, I remembered. _I hurt myself_, _and had to rest today._

I stayed sitting up for what seemed like a few minutes, trying to revive from my stupor. I was awake enough not to fall back asleep, but I didn't feel anywhere close to being rested.

The door creaked, and I saw a sliver of my brother's face behind it.

"Hey, you."

He opened my door slowly, so as not to create too much noise, and stole inside my room. He moved to my bedside so quietly, I couldn't hear his footfalls. "Do you need anything?"

"No. Thanks."

"How do you feel now?"

"Better, I think."

"Can you move?" He was regarding me very seriously.

"Yes," I smiled torpidly. "Everything's going to be fine."

"I think you should go."

My brow furrowed.

"I mean, I think you should go back," he clarified.

"To the office building?"

His face lit up with determination. "_Yeah_, _soon_. Go as soon as you can."

"Well, _you_ believe me that Jiro came," I commented. Masaru stayed resolute as I laughed bitterly. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm in a lot of trouble right now. Even if I could move, they wouldn't let me leave."

I saw Masaru's jaw clench. He started breathing harder, although he wasn't snorting this time. "I'd cover for you," he insisted, "I'll make something up."

"What aren't you saying, honey?"

He stared at my quilt. He was quiet for such a long time, I wondered if he'd heard me. Suddenly, his words came out in a torrent, "He's my brother, that's all. I know that. But there are some things I don't know about him."

"What do you"-

"No matter how much time I spent with him, there were some things I didn't understand," Masaru interrupted. "_You_ did. You always knew where he was hiding, and, well, you always found him."

"It's not a contest, Masaru."

"Yeah, I know. But you're the only one who can bring him back." He turned away, distress leaking from his voice.

"Hey. I'm not pretending with you. I really do believe we'll find him. If you think it should be me to do this, then I'll do what I can."

He looked back to make sure I seemed sincere. "So go, okay? Find our brother. And don't come back until he's with you." He forgot to conceal his steps as he bolted from my room and swung the door shut.

Looking after him, I gingerly ran my hand along the back of my head to feel out a lump. I had grown tired of hunting down shards of a total picture of events. Though it must have seemed foolish, I appreciated that I had no misgivings going back. Jiro would have pursued me just as hard.

Before I flung my covers back, I thought back to something Jiro had said. He was incapable of lying, so why had he told me that The Incident was merely an unpleasant dream? It certainly _had_ happened; the entire world had felt its repercussions. I could derive no meaning in it.

I still don't know what Masaru said to divert our houseguests, but I saw Mr. Hattori and Etsuko pile into the cramped car from my bedroom window a half an hour later. Father was resting, which made departing as simple as stepping out the front door, and making my way to the car in the dark. The clouds had dissipated, and a canopy of heavenly bodies draped above the trees. It was odd how something as arbitrary as a clear night made me feel guarded by unseen forces.

I sped along the winding stretch. Besides the palpable force of the stars, it was still, so still. I didn't dare interrupt it with the radio.

After I parked the car, I squeezed through the same yanked-away opening of the fence. To my good fortune, I did not encounter any police officers.

I made use of my flashlight again to navigate through the jumbled rooms. I wasn't entirely sure what to look for, but I felt compelled to move, as though magnetized to an unseen core. There was nothing; no further writings, no mementos or hidden clues to be found within the walls of the place. Still, I moved closer to the end of a room on the second floor, and my flashlight caught a patch of denim.

My breath caught as I slowly surveyed this. I could plainly see it was encrusted with the grime of this place. The buttons were large, and underneath was an equally sullied orange shirt.

I tilted my flashlight upwards. He wore a wilder look than I remembered. His hair, ordinarily overgrown, was now completely disheveled and falling impossibly into his eyes. Though matted from soot, it still had an enviable luster to it.

If I hadn't known better, I would have said he was gaunter. The shadows my flashlight produced seemed to misinterpret him. He looked like he had dark circles under his eyes. Only the color of the eyes remained unchanged: a warm and beguiling sorrel.

_The dark around his mouth could pass for facial hair_, I thought stupidly. _I haven't seen him for months, and that's my initial thought_?

I took this in for a long moment before I indulged my first impulse. I broke into a run to embrace Jiro. I almost grasped hold of him, but he flinched and pulled back.

I halted, startled. His motions had always been so fluid, yet now he held himself taut. His appearance haggard, he was poised as one who is about to take off, like a spooked hare. I stayed put, lest I contribute to his anxiety.

Keeping my voice low and placid, I asked him, "What's happened to you?"

He gave little indication that he heard me. His eyes flickered, but he didn't blink.

"What is it that's made you afraid? Is it the police? Don't you know what they're calling you out there?" Idiotically, I continued my speech as if he were giving me feedback, "_A hero_. No one wants to harm you anymore, so no one will come after me, either. Don't you see that?"

He finally cast his gaze in my direction. It was cold, as if he were meeting an unwelcome stranger. "You shouldn't have come," he said simply.

It was my turn for impolite reactions. I could feel anger welling up in me for all the time we'd spent apart, and everything I'd gone through for his sake. "How can you _say_ that?" I sputtered.

"You came here looking for answers. But there's nothing to tell. And I have nothing else to give to you."

His words stung. They tore at me like acid. Since he barely reacted to my presence, I was determined to keep him from seeing me cry. Before I lost my equilibrium, I found a reply in my fury.

"How dare you say that," I continued in my jilted state. He had loosed a maelstrom of emotions in me, more than I knew I had had. I couldn't censor myself anymore. "You can't keep me from the truth. I'm involved in this by default. It's my birthright to know what happened."

He regarded me coolly as though he was trying to fathom my next move. "You have a lot. You have friends, a life, a place for yourself. _You belong_. You should go back to it. Your young professor is waiting for you." The last sentence passed through his lips mockingly.

_Jonathan_? I thought. _How on Earth could he know about him_?

"You're become more self-absorbed if you think that. Yes, I suppose you're right; why would I pursue someone who can't see past his own pain?" In truth, I only said this to test his reaction. I meant none of it.

This _did_ affect him. For half of a second, his composure slipped from his face like a paper mask, and I saw exquisite torment in its place. I'd seen that flash of pain before; the grooves that formed along his brow, and the way he squeezed his eyelids shut. It happened as abruptly as a hiccup, then it was over.

I stepped gingerly toward him. Awash in tenderness, I stared into his eyes, and was transfixed. I was helpless. "And you," I consoled him, "do you think you have no place in my life?" Abandoning what little self-control I had left, I found his lips with my own in the dark.

That's when I felt it.

Delicate and smooth like rose petals, with a flowing warmth behind it. Moist like dew.

I stiffened. Before I could think to pull away, Jiro locked his arms around me, forcing me into his embrace. He was kissing back, the skin and plush moving against my mouth. It was still tender, but more passionate than before.

Though my heart was slamming wildly, I found my body untightening, as was his. He finally released me. Dizzy, I groped for some support, and found the wall.

"Your lips are warm," I addled. "Jiro, why are your lips warm?"

"You see," Jiro remarked, adopting his cold, formal tone once more, "I have gone through some changes. Like you, I can lie. And I can break my promises."

"I have never broken my promises to you."

"Oh, you haven't?" he taunted. "Didn't you tell me once that you would be waiting for me?"

"I left a message for you," I whispered thickly. "I know you had the book. Bijinder told me"-

At this, I caught a glimmer of surprise from him.

"Bijinder lives. She's…she's recuperating."

Keeping him affected was like pinning a wave down.

Suddenly, it came to me; "You never opened the book, did you?"

Silence.

"_Why_ didn't you?"

He spoke as if in a reverie, "I didn't want it to know how it ended."

I sensed a double meaning. "Didn't want to know how _what_ ended?"

"You and I."

I took a step forward, "We _don_'_t_."

He chuckled. "It's funny how some things work out…Finding each other, after everything's gone to waste. I looked for you, in every dark alleyway, in every open crowd, but I never found you."

"It was the opposite for me," I offered. "I didn't want to see the person I left behind, but I always found you. In my mind, you were always there."

"Then that book was in my hands, the only touchable proof to me that you were real, and I couldn't open it. And I remembered; I had another family, and they needed me then.

"I didn't know I was going to lose Rieko. She had never fought before she knew she was an android. She thought of herself as a human; she had the temerity to do that. So Gill killed her… I think she died in front of Akira.

"We were," he lulled, "all of us spirited away. And Gill at last had his way. But his way wasn't killing us. No, not after the ruin we caused."

I shook my head, "Jiro, I know you. You're not hostile now. That means"-

"So he made us to understand hate and speak its language. He puts little chips in us, me and my siblings. _Submission_ _circuits_."

I began gagging. Before I grew worse, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths.

"Waking up, Mitsuko, I knew _everything_! Every impulse inside lured me and beckoned. I knew why people took temptation into their hearts, there was so much! There are endless ways to harm.

"Filled to capacity with this, I lied to Bijinder. I didn't feel remorse. It's just I had to escape my holding pod to confront Gill. I dismantled the engine room, and for the first time, I found release in destruction. In those explosions, a happiness built inside me. It felt like retribution, when it was supposed to be justice. I'd always been told that to rage is to lose control, but I'd never felt so in control of my body before. No whistle could hurt me, now that my Gemini had been completed.

"I found him in his command room.... He'd taken everything from me; you and Masaru, Akira and Rieko, and now he'd stolen the rest of my family." He blinked, and slowly shook his head. "They looked so hollow. They were filled with life once, and now they looked vacant. _Dead_…really like unthinking machines. They were lost to me forever.

"So when they attacked me once more, I did not hesitate. All it took was a wave of my hand. This rage for my fallen brothers and sisters flowed perfectly out of me, and I saw each gear and wire coming unhinged as they fell apart, their metal shells peeling off their bodies.

"All at once, I was sick with horror. Gill had robbed them of their souls, and had made me into a shredder for their shells… It's so fragile, life is. To have command over it is amazing. But after all, they weren't like me anymore. They were just 'mad machines,' weren't they?" he spat.

I moaned. "You forgave me- you said you forgave me of that," I entreated.

"They were someone else's playthings now, that's all. That's what Gill thought of all of us, you know: playthings. It didn't matter if we had flesh or metal bodies.

"After my bro"-he faltered as his voice hit a high note- "After they died, I had a perfect subject for this fury. He called orders to stop, but I wouldn't. Anger drives you, it gives you a single-minded focus. I didn't need commands; I had my own _purpose_!"

I couldn't stand it any longer. I cried out, as if in pain, and clapped my hands over my ears. "It's not true, it didn't happen!" I cried. "It didn't happen to you!"

He glared at me fiercely. In fact, he looked about ready to lunge towards me. Instead, he forcefully, but not roughly, pulled my hands away from my ears with his gloved palms. "No, Mitsuko!" he countered, "you wanted to hear this, you couldn't just leave it alone. Now, you will _hear_ it!" He released my wrists and watched as I sunk to the ruined ground.

"I wanted to spare you this," he confessed. His voice was still wavering. "When I finally killed him, do you know what I felt? Joy! _Glee_! I felt glad, and I _hated_ him for making me feel that way!"

Of course. It should have been clear to me all along. It was evident enough; I simply chose not to see it. I hadn't wanted to tarnish the memory of his pure, consuming love.

Reverend Fuuten, for example, had mentioned to me the oddity of how Gill's brain encasement seemed to crack. It didn't appear blown off, as one would naturally assume. Nor did it look as though some part of The Armageddon God had fallen on it, or that it was knocked into a wall and collapsed that way. He said the bulletproof glass may have given way by means of compression, as though some remarkably strong force had pressed upon it until the brain ruptured.

I had forgotten that he told me that until now. It was out of my mind before I ever composed the notes on my visit.

"Even here, right now, I am aware of it." Jiro snapped me out of my thoughts. "The evil heart he wanted me to have, and the goodness I am sure I'm meant to enact." He did not assist me as I rose. "Where's your family, Mitsuko? They must be worried about you. Look after your father. Look after Masaru." His words were a dismissal, but he stayed where he was, his outline visible in the moonlight.

Thank goodness for my own anger in that moment. I would not have been able to fight for him otherwise. "_Coward_."

It was hard to determine his reaction. We'd been so drawn to each other; our connection was like a cord between us. But now that cord was tenuous, and I feared if left him now, I would lose him forever.

"You have life, where so many people have lost theirs. Do you think _this_ is what life is about? Hiding away, cut off from everything?

"I don't know what you expected it to be like. If you thought becoming more like me would make things easier, then I guess I raised you wrong."

"What do _you_ say life is about, Mitsuko?" I think he was testing me.

"I can't give you orders anymore. I never could control you, anyway…I don't think you should look for answers in the person who built your body. I think you should look in the person who fashioned your soul. Maybe then you can find a way to live, without all this guilt. All I can offer you is myself."

"Guilt, yes," he said softly. "You know, it wasn't always bad times with us. They made me smile. Ichiro, he-I laughed a lot around him."

"I wish I got to know your brothers."

"So do I…Did you know Akira wouldn't talk?"

I wondered what made him switch subjects so suddenly. "It's called elect mutism. It happens sometimes to small children when they've been traumatized."

"He _did_ talk, though. Once. It was after dark, when he should have been sleeping. My brothers and Rieko were split up, to survey the land better. Akira usually cried when he was away from Rieko, but he was quiet this time. Maybe he was starting to trust me.

"I put on my goggles, when I heard this little voice, 'Let me see your face.' I looked down to see where it was coming from, and saw Akira burst into laughter. I must have looked funny to him with my goggles on." I was sure he was smiling when he said, "I don't know why I thought of that just now."

_Sweet boy_, I commented silently, _Bijinder's Akira. _A pang of longing struck my chest. I wanted to find him so badly.

"Do you know what keeps me here?" Jiro inquired directly. "I know that after everything we've done, when we die, we'll eventually be forgotten. Even good stories pass from people's minds. And when that happens, it will come again. _There will be another Gill_. He'll just have another name. When that happens, we won't be able to stop him from hurting the innocents. Every era has a Gill. And I'm afraid of what he'll do.

"Mitsuko, do you think there's still hope?"

I was no longer afraid. I leaned in and rested my palm against his face. I felt the dirt on his skin, but also softness. Despite the early spring chill, I even felt a trace of warmth. He yielded to my touch. "You hide in the shadows. Let me see your face."

"Why? _Why_?"

"Because I love you."

He didn't embrace me so much as he fell into me. Not being able to support his weight, I tried as gracefully as I could to sit back without falling. Presently, we found ourselves awkwardly placed on the floor.

I don't think he noticed.

I pulled myself up as he held me. I became aware of blessed little myself; though I was certain I was safe. It felt like home.

His face was buried against my neck. I wondered if he was crying, but then the dampness against my skin told me he was. Eventually, when his ragged breathing subsided, I realized that I couldn't hear the quiet hum of his gears.

_What's pulsing in him_? I wondered. _Electric currents_? _Or is it blood_?

I'm not sure how long we held each other like that for. I lost a certain awareness as I felt his grief, tenderness, and strength flow into me. When I saw his features become more defined, I realized that early morning was approaching. We were both exhausted and spent from the cathartic evening, and I found it increasingly difficult to stay awake. Jiro laughed gently as he watched me struggle.

"Look at you! You can't keep your eyes open. You should rest."

"I can't…You'll leave."

"I won't," he reassured me.

"How do I know that?" I mumbled.

"You don't. You'll have to trust me."

Despite the hard ground, I must have eventually drifted off. Judging from Jiro's mercurial emotions, I could tell he still had a great deal to resolve.

Towards early morning, I half-awoke. I found myself propped in a more comfortable position, with my jacket fully buttoned. If I hadn't insisted on staying there that night, I'm sure he would have made sure I was in my car or someplace more hospitable. Jiro was by the ledge, wringing something with the rainwater in the gutter. When I saw that his jean jacket was buttoned, I realized it was his T-Shirt he was laundering. He hung it by the ledge to dry.

Much later, the painfully boisterous mid-morning sun roused me fully. I was stiff, and felt cramped, and it took me a moment to notice Jiro was not in sight.

I stumbled to my feet. "Jiro?"

I could hear cars faintly from the active parts of the city. I looked down and saw that the sediment from the building had caked onto my clothes. The broad strokes of my hand against the fabric to brush the dust away were the only noticeable sound. For a moment, I _did_ find my vision blurred, but not from the poor breathing conditions. I thought of the worst: Jiro had broken his word to me.

The instant I felt the acrid remorse, I saw him standing by the window. "Oh," I breathed.

"There were looters last night."

"_What_?"

"You sleep like a hibernating animal." The corners of his lips upturned slightly. His gaze was gentle. "Some businesses have vaults for company money. Looters were invading the condemned buildings and trying to crack the safes. They were coming pretty close to this one. I took care of it."

"You…"

"It's funny; I wanted to hurt them, I almost did, but I didn't. Do you think that's strange?"

I didn't reply directly. "What do you intend to do now?"

He shrugged, looking lost. "You're right, Mitsuko. There's nothing for me here…I can't stay here, so where should I go?"

"Home, if you'll accept that." I was trying not to sound as impartial and rational as I could, but I knew the look I threw him was pleading.

"Where is that? That _house_?" He must have come to hate that place almost as much as I did.

"It's where you make it to be. Does it matter where it is?"

"No," he slowly shook his head, and quite unexpectedly, he broke into a radiant smile. I grinned back, pleased.

"Mitsuko," he continued, "I'm unsure about a lot of things. I don't know if I'll be good for you, anymore. But I've decided that there _has_ been enough death. I want to live as a tribute to those who will never experience this world anymore.

"I'm sure of my love for you. I've always been sure of that. Is that enough for you?"

I nodded, "We'll have time to talk. But I don't want to stay here any longer."

He beamed at me, "My Sidemachine's waiting. Let's go home." He grasped his gloved hand in mine. Together, we walked out of the building, and stepped into the day.


	7. Entry 7

I'd like to be able to say that events conclude as definitively as they do in story books; however, some things carry on. As cleansing and transformative agent, the fire did mark the end of the organization known as Dark, and its alias, Shadow. Like a plague-ridden body, they were cast into the flames, and they no longer have any influence upon the world.

There may be agents of either association who live, hiding under the umbrella of a political party or large business. I believe they are craven and mindless without Gill, though I may come across one of them at another point in time.

Jiro is here with me now; he has no thoughts of ever straying. I have come to realize that. There are differences in Jiro from the way he used to be. At times, he's moody. His emotions can be unpredictable. He snaps at people on occasion, or is generally cross. I've had to adjust to it myself, because I know it not to be the behavior of a different person than who I spent those pivotal months with, but rather, a part of the flaws of a fully realized human being.

Jiro has always been good at adapting. There have always been techniques in which to deal with temptation and rage. Like Gil's flute, he can circumvent the impulses to harm through different avenues. If we were all that enslaved to temptation, then daily functioning would be too difficult for any of us to handle.

Sometimes, he diffuses his anger through humor.

One afternoon in May, I managed to secure an afternoon free of my usual responsibilities, and spent it out-of-doors, to collect plant leaves for a project. Jiro asked to come along, and Masaru entreated me, as well. However, when we arrived, Masaru seemed more aloof than was his usual habit. He didn't jump on Jiro, trying to provoke a fun reaction out of him, or cling to my side. Instead, he pointed to a rivulet just visible on the horizon, and asked if he could explore. He had a knowing sort of smile as he trudged off towards the stream.

Armed with a pocketful of plastic bags, I waded through the tall grasses to reach a shrub, the leaves full but still tender. Jiro had been wandering off, and I didn't think of him until I was disrupted from my collection by the sound of a raucous splash. I ran through the thickness of the grasses, not spotting the source until I reached Jiro, his legs fully submerged in the shallow end of a pond. His back was up against a rock; it appeared that he hadn't seen the water in time, and had missed his footing along the stones.

His face still registered surprise. He looked so funny, with his legs sprawled out, jeans soaked. I laughed gently and offered him my hand. Jiro glared at me. I could see already what would happen next: he'd make some caustic retort, and regret it later.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes, his anger dimming. "Don't even consider laughing at me," he warned me coolly.

I sank my teeth into my lower lip to keep from smiling. I sidestepped the stones, and traipsed back in the direction of the hedge. As I passed him, I caved, and broke into a grin. I hurried out of his range, but I did so too late. I heard the splash of water, and felt frigid dampness clinging to my back. It sucked the warmth from my body. I gasped and whirled around to see Jiro's grinning face. He was standing ankle deep in the water, wading out of the pond.

By the time Masaru found us, we were both soaked.

My efforts at finding Akira have not been as successful. The little evidence that had existed in verifying him to be a real person seems to vanish at every juncture. I won't relent. I'll continue searching for him until he is found.

Jiro has told me what little he knows about Professor Gill's motives in having a son. I write "motives," because it is clear that Gill used his son as one uses a tool, with the same disposability of any other mechanical artifice. In fact, Akira was the keystone in the operation of the Armageddon God. There is something unique in his abilities that Gill was able to harness, but Jiro himself is unclear as to what it is.

Whatever it may be, I believe that science has yet to define it, either.

Mieko/Bijinder has a long struggle to undergo still. She is under the influence of many conflicting impulses. Getting a grasp on reality would be tenuous for anyone in her condition. Yet, she does come back. Her intervals of lucidity are becoming more frequent, their duration longer. I see her progress more everyday.

For all of my efforts, I am confident that Jiro was right when he spoke to me that night in late March. We won't be remembered. Now, I look at the things my father and Professor Gill wished to attain with their lives. It doesn't matter how many times my work is published, or how many accolades I receive in my field of study. Fame and power will extend my notoriety, but it will not improve upon my character. That's not the legacy I wish to leave.

We'll pass from the Earth, Jiro and I, and have no lasting name in the place we resided. But if the effect of my actions remain for the following generations, then I will be content. That's the impression I wish to make.

In his own way, even Jiro has come to terms with Gill. On one nondescript, early April morning, Jiro and I met in my father's kitchen. I walked in as he slipped on a lightweight jacket. "Oh, there you are," he murmured. "Come on, if we don't hurry, too many people will be up for us to do this."

I felt paralyzed. The closer I tried to move towards the door, the more difficult it became to walk. For some reason, I began thinking of the night I first became aware that Masaru and I were in danger, the same night that Jiro was born. It came back to me so strongly that I could smell the smoke of Father's burning lab, taste it in the back of my throat.

"I can't do it." I declared, suddenly insistent. I looked sheepishly at Jiro. "I know, you shouldn't do this alone. You shouldn't be the one doing this at all. I just-I still can't face him, not after everything that's happened." I felt flustered with shame. I lowered my eyes. "I know it, I'm a bad girlfriend."

The sobriety of the moment broke when Jiro echoed, "Girlfriend," as though he relished the sound of it. I managed a small smile.

He slipped one of his riding gloves off to reveal a hand of flesh; a real hand. He laced his fingers with mine. "This isn't your responsibility. It's mine. After all, I did it to him. Let me be the one to finish this."

"But. Jiro, _alone_?"

He withdrew his hand and headed for the door. "I'll be back later."

Jiro and I had buried the scant remains of the androids Ichiro and Rei the week after he returned with me. Now, he left again, to commit what was left of Gill to the earth.

The rest you may have guessed already. Father is well; stubborn, but resigned to using his cane. Masaru is getting tall. After a few squabbles between Etsuko and Mr. Hattori, the wedding was agreed to take place in the Fall.

Jiro struggles still. But more often than he fails, he is ruled by his conscience. And so, forever, Gill is defeated.

My small life is now more than I could have dreamt. What possibilities it offers! What hope.


	8. Publisher's Notes

Mitsuko's diary ends here. It was discovered on her attic floor, three days subsequent to her death.

Mitsuko Komyouji lived to be fifty-nine, and is survived by two children, Miyuki and Encarnacion. She is most recognized for her exhaustive genetic research, including mapping the genomes of previously undiscovered plants in the Amazon rainforest. Her doctorate was in Microbiology.

In her life, she commanded the professional respect of her peers, but shunned their personal circles to such an extent that she was viewed as something of an eccentric. The reasoning behind this has been debated, but many of her colleagues surmise that she did not wish to draw attention to her rumored family secrets. A few unnamed sources have noted the family resemblance Jiro Komyouji had with the other Komyoujis, and have questioned whether he was, in fact, a distant cousin of Mitsuko's.

There are meager records of Jiro Komyouji, though it has been assumed by most that his birth records were lost during The Incident. All that remains clear is that he was a vagabond; a drifter that her father took in. Whether he took Mitsuko's last name out of respect for her, or had her family name simply because of blood ties is unclear.

There is no proof to substantiate that Jiro was ever an android. The extensive catalogue of Doctor Den Komyouji's work has been lost through the years. The existence of the program described as "Gemini" has not been validated. Nor has evidence of an android named Bijinder/Mieko been found.

Jiro himself enjoyed the status of a cult musician. Although he was a noted guitarist, influencing younger generations, he reportedly despised crowds, and refused to perform in large venues. Instead, the bulk of his professional work was relegated to recording studios. He suffered a stroke nearly two years to the day before wife did, and passed away shortly thereafter.

Hanpei and Etsuko Hattori currently reside in the respectable Eastern suburb of the nation's capitol. They enjoyed moderate success in their detective business, and have been retired for a decade. Neither one would comment directly on the authenticity of the events in Mitsuko's diary, but Mr. Hattori did state that the disappearance of Doctor Den Komyouji was unrelated to the bankruptcy of The Dark Demolition Corporation. Instead, he claims that the doctor's prolonged absence and injuries were due to a mental breakdown, coupled with memory loss. Both celebrated a strong friendship with the Komyouji family, in particular Jiro and Mitsuko.

Doctor Den Komyouji passed away of cardiac failure ten years after The Incident. His mentor, Reverend Fuuten, survived him by five years, and may well have lived longer if a driver had not lost control of his vehicle as the reverend crossed the street on a balmy June morning.

Masaru Komyouji wed his childhood friend, Yoko Kaito, and have one daughter, Ran. Ran Komyouji, a respected singer, recently married the lawyer Mark Degras, and is expecting twins. All four members of the family currently reside in Ireland.

Masaru Komyouji became a published children's author and illustrator with the release of Margot's Oasis, but did not enjoy success until his second book, The Lantern of Stars. Since that point, he has released a dozen others, many of which have been international bestsellers.

The publisher has managed to trace no less than four Akira Esovars who were from three to five years of age, and departed the country within a month following The Incident. Of the four, only one is rumored to have any connection with the Komyouji family, and may have met with Mitsuko during her lifetime. He has refused our repeated requests for an interview.

While there has been heated debate about the validity of the text since it was uncovered, Mitsuko's diary contains notes on specific dates and times of each event she chronicled. Each coincide precisely with the dates that uncontested events occurred. Certain details, such as how The Dark Demolition Corporation became massively profitable only to abruptly declare bankruptcy, would have been difficult for someone in Mitsuko's position to describe unless it was a convincing fabrication of events.

It remains undecided whether Mitsuko's diary is ultimately a truthful recording of family secrets, or a brilliant fact-based fiction from a master storyteller. Mitsuko's living relatives have all made the statement that the validity of the events depicted is not the purpose of the story, but that readers should value it for its greater meaning.

The end.

Wow, many months and eight chapters later, I can finally conclude my story. I had my reservations about extending what could have been a "one-shot," but I was met with the support from so many "Kikaider" fans, that releasing this idea that refused to die in my mind became the truest option.

I was concerned about disrupting the continuity of the story, so I withheld all personal notes until the piece was completed.

My literary influences? They're all over the place, if you hadn't guessed.

There were several scenes I had planned which for the purpose of remaining concise and not detracting from the main storyline, were not included. Den Komyouji's research of the commonalities of moral code in different cultures, his interest in the legend of the Gollum, or the imparting of objects with souls, Masaru's overcorrecting Hanpei Hatottori's speech, Mitsuko's run-in with Miyuki; all of these were cut.

To answer Tenniyo's question; yes, Bijinder's eyes are blue in the OVAs, but they are green in MEIMU's updated manga. When I was writing this story, I mistakenly recalled the manga, and liked the imagery of it so much that I kept her eyes that color. It's a bit of license, so if the purists are distressed by the change, then I apologize.

To those who have read, and those who have provided feedback, I'm flattered and humbled by the attention. I dedicate this fiction to "Kikaider" fans, but in particular to the members of the Kikaider Proboards.

As for a sequel, I won't entirely rule out the possibility of a follow-up, but it wouldn't occur for some time.

Thanks again, everyone. If you liked this fiction, you might also enjoy:

Gemini by Naki: Jiro/Kikaider falls into a series of domestic mishaps. Currently incomplete.

Reparations by Tenniyo: Ties together as many aspects of the series and the OVAs as possible, while crafting a high-spirited adventure, and including a new character.

Trust by Fierdra: Ichiro contemplates his and Jiro's fate before he is implanted with the Submission Circuit. A "one-shot."

Hope by Yukikaima: A "one-shot" in which a small messenger brings two people closer together.

Android Kikaider 02: The Fanfiction: An episodic, action-packed sequel with plenty of android foes to spare.

In the good will of shameless nepotism, I'll also "plug" my cousin, UniCornVampire3z, who has been content to pen Lord of the Rings fictions, as well as stories in the genre of mythology. She will become a wonderful writer, after she learns that she must proofread her work (hint, hint, dear coz.).


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